The Winds of Change
by 1917farmgirl
Summary: Beka thought she had it all a good life on the "Eureka Maru", a handsome fiancé, and the freedom and respect to live her life how she wanted to. Then that scrawny kid showed up and it all went to pot.
1. Prologue

**The Winds of Change**

Author: Jill

Archive: Fine with me, just tell me where it's going.

Disclaimer: None of the characters from Andromeda belong to me.

Rating: PG

Season: Very AU! I guess it would have to be pre-andromeda into first season, because all the first season characters are present.

Spoilers: none

Author's note: This story is based in an alternate universe. The characters are all there, but they might be slightly different in order to fit this universe.

Summery: Beka thought she had it all; a good life on the "Eureka Maru", a handsome fiancé, and the freedom and respect to live her life how she wanted to. Then that scrawny kid showed up and it all went to pot.

**Prologue**

Rebekah Valentine shielded her eyes with one hand as she stared off into the west, a frown turning the corners of her lips down. The dark clouds were quickly bearing down on her across the rolling landscape and still there was no sign of anyone. If her fiancé didn't get his sorry behind home soon, he was going to get caught in this storm, and she darn well wasn't about to go out looking for him.

A sudden intense gust of wind whipped her skirts up wildly and she swatted them down, annoyed. Beka Valentine was a woman of her own breed. Never mind that women in 1860 were supposed to conform to certain mores and standards; Beka did what she wanted, when she wanted, and if that bothered anyone, well that was just too bad. With only her own blood, sweat, and guts she had taken the worn down ranch she inherited from her father and turned it into something to be proud of. Sure, she still owe a lot to the bank and her father's creditors, but she was steadily paying it off and the "Eureka Maru" was starting to blossom. So anyone that wanted to criticize her social conduct could just take a hike, preferably right off a cliff. If she felt like wearing pants, she was going to wear pants; if she felt like a dress, she would wear a dress. Today, she had felt like a dress and now she was starting to regret her decision. She was suddenly reminded how much she hated wind and weather.

Looking once more into the coming storm, Beka scanned the horizon for any sign of movement but found none.

"Bobby Jensen, you are on your own," she grumbled as she climbed up the porch steps, stomped across the porch and into her house, slamming the door behind her.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Beka woke with a start when she heard the barn door bang loudly. With a small moan, she realized she'd fallen asleep in the hard rocking chair waiting for Bobby and now she was stiff and sore. She also noticed it was the middle of the night and the lantern she'd left in the window had burned very low. The mighty prairie winds were still shaking the frame house and she could hear that rain was now pounding down on the roof as well. Wondering if the wind had somehow caught the barn door and swung it open, she rose to go to the window and check.

'Or,' the more cynical part of her mind added, 'it could be a bandit or outlaw looking for somewhere to hide out from the storm.'

With a frown, she mentally told her cynical voice to shut up, but she still grabbed her pistol from its holster at the door as she went by. Stopping at the window, she peered out into the swirling darkness, straining to see through the driving wind and rain. After a moment she could just make out the imposing shape of her barn, a blacker mass in the general darkness. Looking closely, she saw that the door was shut, just as it should be. Nothing appeared amiss and there was still no sign of Bobby. If he had even one ounce of brains in his head (and sometimes Beka seriously doubted that) he most certainly must have holed up in town to ride out the storm. He wouldn't be coming back until it was over.

She waited a few more minutes but there was nothing suspicious enough to make her brave the storm in the dark. Whatever it was, it could definitely wait until morning when the weather might decide to be decent again. She was getting too jumpy; imagining things that weren't there. With one last look out the window, Beka picked up the sputtering lamp and headed upstairs to her bedroom. It was time to get some real sleep.

But she still took the pistol with her.

OOOOO

The faint light of dawn trickled through the window, proving that the storm had finally blown itself out as Beka pulled herself out of bed. With a sigh, she rummaged around for some clothes to put on, her only criteria that it _not_ be a dress today. Eventually, she unearthed a slightly rumpled white cotton shirt that buttoned down the front and lacked a collar. She quickly pulled it on and tucked it into a pair of worn brown trousers. They were a bit tighter than was respectable, but Bobby never seemed to mind. Still half asleep, she pulled on her boots and strapped her pistol on at her hip. Finally, she splashed a little water on her face to help her wake up and ran her fingers through the blonde hair she kept cut short, another breach of social conduct. Her toiletries complete, she ignored the messy bed and left the room; she had chores to do.

By the time she entered the big barn, Beka was fully awake and enjoying the fresh morning air. As much as she hated storms, a good rain always did make it feel like everything had been washed clean. With a smile, Beka grabbed the pitchfork and started to toss some hay to her stock, savoring the sweet scent of the dry grass as she went. It was such a beautiful day she could _almost_ forgive Bobby for not being there to help out – almost.

Beka finished feeding the horses and was thinking about heading back to start breakfast when something caught her eye, off near the back of the barn in a large pile of hay. Cautiously, she moved closer to investigate. As she approached, her frown deepened and she instinctively drew her gun. Poking out from her hay, in her barn, was a small and very dirty hand that most definitely didn't have her permission to be there.

OOOOO

The town of Andromeda, Wyoming Territory was like any other small town on the American frontier. Clapboard buildings sprang from the ground and clung tenaciously to the few streets carved out of the dust. Someone must have had grand plans for this little one-horse town to give it such an auspicious name. The potential was there, but it was still waiting to live up to its name.

Bobby Jensen frowned as he made his way to the Livery Stable. The storm that had forced him to stay in town at the hotel was finally over, but it had left the streets a muddy mess, churned up by endless wheels and hooves into a brown lumpy soup that splattered everything. Reaching the building, he quickly ducked inside to make sure his precious cargo remained tucked safely and undisturbed in the back of the wagon. That box was the reason he was still stuck in town. The idiot he'd been supposed to meet at the contact point was over two hours late, and by the time he'd gotten the cargo hidden in the wagon it was too dangerous to head back out to the Maru.

Satisfied that nothing had been disturbed during the night, Bobby weighed his options. He really should head back out to the ranch; Beka was probably hopping mad by now, but the saloon was calling him. One little drink wouldn't hurt. Besides, who was he to let a woman run his life? His mind made up, he left the stable and turned right down the boardwalk toward the swinging sign of "Pieces of Eight" Saloon.

Two hours later, Bobby had passed his one drink limit by three and was steadily working his way into a nice drunk. Consequently, he didn't at first notice the dark shadow that stepped up and blocked his view. It wasn't until a chair scrapped out from beneath the table that he realized he wasn't alone anymore.

"Mr. Jensen, how nice to see you again."

Bobby scowled, trying to place the voice that dripped with oily politeness. Then the fog lifted slightly from his brain and he recognized the face of Dexter Gerentex, Andromeda's banker.

"What do you want, Gerentex?" Bobby growled.

"Only a moment of your time, Mr. Jensen, nothing more."

Bobby snorted. "Well, hurry it up then, I don't have all day."

Gerentex pulled a smile that gave his pointed little face a rat-like quality. "I can see how _terribly_ busy you are. It must be exhausting, working so hard." The banker looked around at the saloon and his nose wrinkled in distaste before he continued speaking. "Anyway, that is beside the point. The terms of your loan are almost up, and still I have seen hardly a cent from you. I can't keep giving you an extension, especially when you continue to drink or gamble what money you do make away. I'm an honest business man; I have to think of my own livelihood, you know."

"Gerentex, you are about as honest as a porcupine is cuddly," Bobby laughed at him. "You're just living high off the work of others who are too desperate to fight you."

The banker's eyes narrowed and his next words hissed out. "May I remind you that you are one of those people in no position to fight me. I could have you thrown in jail for defaulting on a loan, and I have the papers to prove it."

Bobby sighed, suddenly tired of playing this game. "Look, I'm trying, okay. Just give me a few more weeks and I'll have all of your money, I promise."

"Sorry, that's not good enough, anymore. I need something more, some insurance that you will come through this time."

"But I don't have…" Bobby started to protest, but his words trailed off as a thought suddenly occurred. He didn't have anything to put up as collateral, but he knew someone that did: Beka. The Eureka Maru wasn't his, but it really shouldn't have been Beka's either. Women had no right to own property; it was a wonder no one had challenged her on it before now. Besides, he and Beka were practically married and as soon as the formalities were out of the way, the Maru would be his in name as well as deed. All that aside, if he played his cards right and delivered a few more boxes of "cargo" Beka would never need to know about any of this at all.

"Gerentex, would the mortgage on a ranch be enough collateral to get you off my butt for awhile?"

A greedy glint stole across Gerentex's face and he smiled. "Quite enough. Why don't we go to my office and formalize the agreement in writing?"

Bobby tossed off the last of his drink and nodded. Grabbing his hat, he got unsteadily to his feet and followed the banker out the door.

OOOOO

Gerentex was wearing a feral grin as he gazed out his window at the figure of Bobby Jensen moving away from the bank. That had been too easy, like taking candy from a baby.

He didn't even turn around when he heard the door open and someone enter the room.

"Is it done then? Did he do it?"

"He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker."

"Good. I've planned too long for this, put too much work in it to fail. I need that ranch before my plans can progress any farther."

"Just a little more patience and you'll have it," Gerentex assured him.

"Patience? Don't tell me to be patient, not when it should have been mine all along. But they'll see. In the end, Sam Profit always gets what he wants."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Beka glared at the figure out cold in her hay, realizing that her more cynical side had been right last night. He might not be a bandit or an outlaw, but he was most certainly trouble. Someone with nothing to hide would have just asked to use the barn, not snuck into it. With a resigned sigh, she looked him over. He was sleeping so deeply she thought for a moment he might be dead, until she saw the thin chest rise and fall slightly underneath the ragged shirt. Since he posed no immediate threat, she took the opportunity to study him closer.

The small, dirty hand that had first drawn her attention was attached to an equally small, dirty body. Asleep, he didn't look a day over twelve. Hair that would have matched the color of the straw he slept in if it weren't so filthy stuck up straight from his head, as if in a vain attempt to make him look taller. He wore a ragged shirt that in a previous life might have been a tan color, with the sleeves rolled up to hide the fact that it was too large for him. His pants, also too big, were held up with a piece of rope and just as ragged as his shirt. And his feet were bare, although it was hard to tell since they were so black from dirt he might just as well have been wearing shoes. Underneath the pitiful excuse for clothes, Beka noticed that he was painfully thin and his breath seemed rather haggard. He was also shivering strongly and she realized his clothes were still damp from the night's storm. As a particularly violent shiver wracked his frame and started to pull him awake, Beka saw one last thing that made her shiver herself. Both the boy's wrists and ankles were ringed in dark bruises and open sores.

A moan escaped the kid's lips and Beka pulled herself together. She had almost been feeling sorry for this scamp and that would never do. He was a trespasser on her property, and she wasn't going to fall for the 'pathetic waif' routine. He didn't look it, but out here it could mean death or worse to underestimate a threat, especially for a woman alone. If this kid turned out to be a homicidal maniac, there was no one for miles around to help her. She was determined to keep the upper hand here. As his eyelids started to flutter, Beka planted herself directly in his view and leveled her gun straight at his chest, waiting patiently.

She didn't have to wait long. A few moans and one hacking cough later, blue eyes peaked out from behind eyelashes and he was awake. For a moment, he seamed dazed and unaware of his surroundings then he caught sight of sunlight glinting off metal and instant alertness returned. He visually followed the gun to her arm and up to her face, and his eyes widened in fear. Instinctively, he scooted backwards and raised his hands.

"Look, Lady, I can explain!"

The kid's voice was annoyingly nasal and it grated on her already frayed nerves. There was something else about it as well, but she couldn't put her finger on it at the moment.

"Shut up," Beka growled and his lips snapped shut. Good, she was scaring him, just what she meant to do. "This is my barn and my property and I call the shots here. You talk when I give you permission, you move when I give you permission, and you breathe when I give you permission. You answer my questions with the answers I want to hear and I just might let you live long enough to appreciate that. You give me the wrong answers, however, and my finger just might accidentally slip. Understand?"

From his seat in the hay the kid gulped and nodded.

"Stand up," Beka ordered and he immediately scrambled to his feet, but Beka noticed he moved stiffly. Drawn to his full height, she could see he was older than she had thought, but he was still inches shorter than her.

"Empty your pockets. And remember, I'm watching every move."

He hesitated for just a moment, but the gun never wavered so he complied. Beka watched in fascination as two rocks, one knife, four nails, one slingshot, a grubby handkerchief, one sock, a soggy roll, a rabbit's foot, and one tin whistle somehow emerged from the depths of his ruined clothes. He held them protectively for a second, then reluctantly set them down on the ground and turned back to Beka. His eyes looked straight into hers for the first time and she was shocked at the intensity of the blue orbs. They were ages older than his face and whispered of pain, loss, and determination. And right now they were also filled with pleading.

Suddenly, Beka didn't feel quite so tough. In fact as she watched this boy spread his few pathetic belongings out without a word, she felt rather sick. If he was a homicidal manic, he definitely needed to invest in some new tools of the trade. With a sigh of frustration at how easily she fell for hard-luck cases, she lowered the gun slightly.

"What's your name?" she asked in a softer voice.

"Harper."

_Harper_? That was a new one. She raised her eyebrows quizzically at him, not satisfied with the response.

"Seamus Zelazny Harper," he tried again.

Oh good Lord, the kid's name was bigger than he was! Seamus? _Zelazny_? His parents must have been drunk; no wonder he stuck with Harper. Suddenly, a thought tickled the back of her brain: Seamus… Now she knew what she was missing. Underneath that nasal voice she could just make out the remnants of a faint Irish brogue. It didn't answer any questions, but it stopped her brain from puzzling unnecessarily.

"So, Harper, care to explain what you are doing in my barn, and how you ended up here?"

He swallowed before he spoke, eyes still clearly fixed on her gun. "Well, I was just headin' for town when that storm struck. I thought it would blow over quick if I kept walking, but it just never stopped. I was pretty wet and tired and when I saw your barn, I decided to just wait inside until it quit. I never meant to fall asleep and if I'd known you would object so much I wouldn't have come in at all!"

"How do I know you haven't just escaped from prison or something?" she asked with a pointed glance at his wrists and ankles. He saw the look and angrily stuffed his hands into his pockets, giving her a glare.

"I didn't escape from prison and I ain't done nothin' wrong, Lady, unless it's a crime to be freakin' wet and cold."

She frowned but didn't pursue it. Obviously a touchy subject - time for the next question. "Why were you going to town?"

"To find work."

She laughed a little as she looked him up and down. "You're not old enough to be out on your own, let alone looking for a job!"

"Hey!" he yelped, clearly offended. "I am too old enough. I'm older than I look. And I'll have you know I've been working since I was five, so don't give me any of that crap."

She suspected the words were meant to prove his maturity, but they just made her sad.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Twenty," he said proudly, and tried to stand a little taller. She also noticed his eyes giving her the once over and liking what he saw. Mentally, she sighed.

"Twenty?" she repeated and her eyebrows climbed to the sky while the hand without the gun came to rest on her hip. "Uh…huh, try again."

"Nineteen," he said, a little less cockily.

"Already passed or coming up on?"

"Well, I will be on my next birthday."

"Which is…?"

"In July," he muttered, looking at his feet. It was August. The kid was barely eighteen.

Beka ran a hand through her hair and tried not to smile. Oh boy, she had all the luck. First, she found a starving kid in her barn, one who obviously was hiding from something and not telling her the whole truth, she reminded herself as she thought of the sores on his wrists and ankles. Second, despite her best efforts, she fell for the pathetic routine, started feeling sorry for him. Then, to top it all off, she realized she was actually starting to like him! He made her want to laugh and not many people did that lately.

A rogue thought leapt into her brain and she jerked. Nuh huh. Nope. Nada. Not even a chance, she told it and tried to squash it. He was filthy, she reminded it. He was also on the run from something, she added sternly. And, she pointed out to it as she remembered the appraising look, he's full of raging hormones! As she was arguing with herself, she watched the kid double over in wracking coughs. Ah ha! she pointed out to it, he's also sick, probably with something deadly. There was no way, she said firmly. No way...

"You hungry?"

Darn it, did she say that out-loud?

The kid just blinked at her, confused by the sudden shift in the conversation.

"I said, are you hungry?" Beka restated, holstering her gun as she spoke.

"Do birds lay eggs?" he finally replied sarcastically. "Yeah, of course I'm hungry, why you askin'?"

"Because I was just about to go fix some breakfast and if you can lay off the sarcasm, there might be enough for two."

His eyes widened in disbelief and she could almost see his mouth watering, but he hesitated. "Hey, how do I know you ain't just gonna lure me in there to shoot me?"

"Because, I never kill someone before breakfast. Ruins my appetite. Now after breakfast, that's still up for discussion," she said and gave him his first smile. He seemed satisfied with the response, but before he could say anything, another bout of coughing seized him, and Beka frowned again, wondering just what she was getting herself into.

"Come on, don't die on me here, Kiddo. Not when I've just offered you breakfast."

The coughs subsided and he held up a hand to show he was okay. Beka didn't believe him, but she let it go. She stepped up to his meager pile of belongings and withdrew the knife and the slingshot. "These I hold onto for awhile, the rest you can keep." She then turned and marched out the barn door and toward the house.

Harper stared at her back, frozen for a moment in shock. Then he quickly stuffed his belongings back into his pockets and ran after her.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Still wondering exactly what had happened to her good sense, Beka walked through the back door of her house and into the kitchen, trusting the kid to follow on his own. With a sigh, she checked the fire in the large, black, cast-iron stove that dominated one whole side of the room. It was still going, but she threw another log on anyway and then set the coffee pot on to boil. Grumbling under her breath at her own lack of fortitude in the face of a little suffering, she banged around, dumping eggs and bacon into a pan and slapping dishes on the table. It wasn't until the bacon had started spitting and the coffee pot began to hum that she realized she was still alone. Cursing softly, she stalked back to the door.

"I swear, if that kid just took off after all this, I _will_ kill him!" she ranted as she yanked the door open. Harper, who'd been sitting on the steps, jumped up sharply in surprise, bumping his back on the railing as he rose. Beka didn't miss the flash of pain that flickered through his eyes, but she ignored it.

"I told you I'd feed you breakfast, so why do I find you still sitting out here? The food's in the kitchen."

The kid blinked at her again for a moment with those darn wide blue eyes before responding.

"I didn't… I'm not supposed…" he stammered and then trailed off. Her eyebrows climbed and she shifted impatiently.

"I didn't think you'd want me in your house," he finally finished looking down, unable to meet her eyes now.

Once again, his words had the uncanny affect of blowing all the anger out of her sails and she sighed. Mentally, she noted she'd been doing that a lot today. She hadn't even had breakfast yet and she'd already racked up a whole day's worth of sighs. It was definitely going to be a long day.

"Look Kid…Seamus…um…Harper, I said I would feed you and I meant it, but I'm not a restaurant. You want the food, you're gonna hafta come in and get it." She held the door open and gestured for him to go through, but he still hesitated. Struggling not to get annoyed, she tried again.

"Harper, I'll admit that you don't exactly look or smell like a basket of fruit right now, but did you really think that just because you need to clean up a bit I was gonna make you eat out here like a dog?" she asked and his eyes told her that 'yes,' that was exactly what he had thought. Against her will, her heart softened a little, wondering just what hole this kid had crawled out of that he would automatically assume such a thing.

"Come on, Kiddo," she said in a kinder voice than she'd used since she met him, "Just come in and sit down." Hesitantly, he stepped into the room and walked to the bench by the table, looking around in awe and admiration as he went. Curiously, the cocky, sarcastic attitude of earlier seemed to have slipped off for the moment. He acted almost shy, she noted, as she fed another log into the stove and then flipped the bacon.

An awkward silence settled in the room as Beka finished cooking the eggs and sliced up a small loaf of bread, broken only by Harper's occasional hacking coughs. The boy sat on the edge of the bench, his eyes darting nervously around. Beka thought he looked like a scared, wild animal, still half afraid she might shoot him and ready to bolt at the first sign of harm. Only the tantalizing scent of cooking food kept him nailed to his seat. She could literally hear his stomach growling and see his mouth watering.

The food ready, she placed it on the table and took the pan to the indoor sink. She grabbed the pump's handle, intending to wash up, before she remembered it was broken. This sink and indoor pump were some of her pride and joys. Her father had installed them, trying to placate her finicky mother, but the motivation didn't diminish her gratefulness. That sink saved her hours of hauling water in from the well; that is, it did when it was working. Silently, she cursed Bobby and his rather loose interpretation of "I'll get right on it." That had been a week ago.

"Blasted pump!" she muttered, slapping the handle in frustration. It didn't fix the problem, but it made her feel better. "One way or another I'm gonna get this fixed today," she grumbled.

For the first time since he'd entered the room, Harper looked up with something other than fear in his eyes. "What's wrong with it?" he asked, genuine interest in his voice.

"The stupid handle won't move. Something's jamming it and I haven't been able to fix it yet."

A bit of the brash attitude seemed to return and he spoke up quickly. "Maybe I could look at it for ya? I'm real good at fixing things."

_Ha!_ Beka scoffed to herself, looking the scrawny, filthy kid up and down. He appeared about as able to fix her sink as he did to run for president. Out loud, however, she simply said, "Maybe later," and sat down at the table.

Judging by his reluctance to enter the house, she realized that even though he was probably starving he would never grab for the food himself. She decided not to repeat the scene by the door and simply served a large portion of all foods onto his plate for him, before serving herself. He stared at the food in awe, almost reverence, as if it would simply disappear if he looked away.

"Go on, Kid," Beka told him, trying to keep the sadness from her voice, "Eat up. I promise it's not poisoned."

Harper glanced at her one more time, as if weighing the pros and cons, and then the enticing scent of the eggs and bacon won out. Completely bypassing the silverware, he simply started shoveling food into his mouth with his hand, his other arm unconsciously snaking around the plate to guard it, as if he were afraid Beka might change her mind and take it back. He ate like he hadn't tasted food for awhile, and Beka tried to keep the overwhelming sense of pity that struck her from showing on her face as she realized he probably hadn't.

"Harper," she asked, trying to make him look at her so he would slow down enough not to choke, "When was the last time you ate?" His hand paused halfway to his mouth and his forehead wrinkled in thought as he contemplated her words.

"I found some rolls in a window about three days ago. Before that…? I ain't sure," he shrugged dismissively and resumed his rapid eating.

Having nothing to say to a remark like that, Beka simply picked up her fork and started eating her own breakfast, but her thoughts were far from the food she was barely tasting. _Three days!_ This kid hadn't eaten in three days, and then only a few measly rolls he pilfered from some window. No wonder he was rail-thin. And sick, she added as she watched him shovel more food into his mouth, hoping he wouldn't start to cough and choke as a result. _I really should have made him wash_, she thought as she contemplated the germs going down with the food from that dirt-blackened hand.

Another rogue thought flashed through her brain and this time she didn't even bother trying to squash it. There was just something about this kid that was getting to her. Everything from his filthy appearance to his obvious nervousness should have been setting off all her inner alarms, but for some reason, he wasn't. She should have sent him packing the moment he woke up in her barn, and yet here she was feeding him breakfast. She couldn't put her finger on why, she just knew that when she looked into his eyes she saw something more, something…special?

_Aw crap_, she silently cursed, _I'm going all soft and sentimental._ But she couldn't help it.

A rough cough drew her attention back to her guest.

"Hey, slow down, Kiddo!" she cried, visions of him dying on her floor with bacon lodged in his throat dancing past. Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed his wrist to stop him. She was surprised when he hissed sharply and jerked his arm from her grasp, scooting out of her reach and glaring at her in pain and fear.

"Don't!" he snapped.

Belatedly, Beka remembered the open wounds and bruises that circled his thin wrists, right where she'd just grabbed him. Dang, she hadn't meant to hurt him.

"I'm sorry, Harper," she said quietly. "I just wanted to tell you there's no need to hurry so fast. The food's not going to go anywhere and there's plenty more where that came from if you run out."

He was breathing heavily and still staring at her like a deer ready to bolt, so she simply lowered her eyes and continued to eat as though nothing had happened. After a moment, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him gradually relax and slowly start to eat again.

They ate in silence for several minutes, but Beka's thoughts refused to stay quiet. For reasons she couldn't even figure out herself, she realized she had a desire to help this boy. He appeared to have the deck stacked against him, yet his whole demeanor screamed determination and a will to survive. The idea that had been tickling the back of her mind for the last hour surged forward. She really could use some more help around here. This ranch was awfully big for one person to keep up and it was starting to look run down. Sure, she had Bobby, but as much as she loved him, she'd be the first to admit he didn't have a talent for hard work.

The sound of heavy feet on the back steps interrupted her thoughts. _Speak of the devil_…

Harper looked up quickly, the fear on his face coming back instantly as his eyes scanned the room for another way out.

"Hey, don't worry, Kid," she said hastily, "It's just Bobby. He's my fiancé; he won't hurt you." _I hope_… It's not that she thought Bobby would actually do anything to the kid, but he did have a temper and from the sound of his footsteps, she figured she could find the reason for his tardiness in a trail of empty bottles. If he was drunk, he might take exception to Beka having breakfast with some unknown kid. Beka frowned. She hated drinking, Bobby knew that. And it was way too early in the day for Bobby to be resorting to the bottle. Just what was going on?

"You never said nothing about no freakin' fiancé!" Harper shot at her, looking betrayed.

"I didn't think it was any of your business," she shot right back, her annoyance with Bobby accidentally being set lose on Harper. "My house-my rules, remember?"

He glared at her, but kept quiet. The door lurched open and Beka stood up, crossing her arms and leveling the entering figure with a look that could have sent entire armies running for cover.

"Mornin', Beautiful," Bobby slurred as he stumbled through the doorway, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Don't give me any of that crap, Bobby," Beka hissed dangerously, moving toward him. "You're drunk. You know my rules."

"Aw, come on, Baby. Aren't you glad to see me?"

Beka ignored the question and answered with one of her own. "You should have been back hours ago. Where have you been?"

"Town," Bobby grumbled vaguely, seeing he wasn't going to get the warm welcome he'd hoped for. "I had things to do."

Behind her, Harper snorted in disgust, and Bobby noticed him for the first time. His eyes narrowed dangerously and he advanced on the kid. Beka saw the terror in the boy's eyes multiply, but he stubbornly stood his ground.

"What's this _trash_ doin' here?" Bobby growled. Harper sent Bobby a glare that almost rivaled the one Beka pierced him with earlier.

Beka had been mentally deriding the kid since she set eyes on him, but when Bobby said it out loud, something inside her snapped. "He's not trash, Bobby, and he's here because I invited him to be, which is more than can be said for you in your current state!"

"Darlin', look at him! I'm amazed he hasn't robbed you blind yet. I leave for one night and I come home to find you let filth like that in our house?"

"Hey!" Harper started to protest, his eyes flashing.

"Shut up," both Bobby and Beka retorted. The kid snapped his jaw shut, scowling, and Beka felt slightly bad. He was just an innocent bystander here but he was bearing the brunt of Bobby's intoxication.

"My house, Bobby," Beka reminded Bobby curtly. "My house, and you are also here by invitation, just like anyone else. And right now, I think we have some things to discuss. Outside," she added, firmly steering the larger man back toward the door. Then she turned back to Harper. "You stay here," she ordered. "Don't sneak out and don't steal anything or I will follow you and shoot you like I promised."

That said, she pushed Bobby out onto the back porch and shut the door behind her.

"What was that all about, Beka?" Bobby demanded, the liquor strong on his breath. "Were'd you find that mutt?"

Beka's anger and frustration with Bobby were rising by the minute. Six months ago, she'd been head over heals and sure she'd found the love of her life. He'd admired her fierce independence and in return she'd allowed him to dote on her a bit. He'd even made her laugh. But lately, Bobby had become more secretive and evasive, taking off on unexplained trips and coming home late. He'd also been drinking, something he knew Beka didn't tolerate well. And now, he was telling her what to do in her own home. She still loved him, but she was getting more than a little concerned.

"He was sleeping in the barn when I went out to do chores this morning," she told him, crossing her arms and leaning on the railing.

"And you didn't send him off with a cuff round the ears?"

"Bobby," Beka sighed, "He was wet and cold and starving so no I didn't send him packing. Did you even look at him? He's skin and bones. There's no way he would have lasted another day without a decent meal! Besides, you used to be all for helping the underdog, the little guy. What happened?"

"I just don't want to see you get hurt, that's all," Bobby said, reaching out and caressing her face. Normally, she would have melted into his touch, loving the way his strong fingers traced her skin, but right now she was still too mad.

"If you're so worried about me, you could stick around a bit more and help out. This place doesn't run itself you know."

For a moment his grip on her face tightened painfully and she saw anger flash through his eyes. "I told you, Beka, I had things to do."

Looking straight at him, she shook his hand off impatiently. "Well, we have things to do here as well and I've decided I'm tired of waiting for you to get around to them. I need more help and that kid desperately needs a few square meals. I'm gonna ask him to stay on as a hired hand."

Bobby exploded.

"What! Beka, he's a filthy, little, diseased rat! He's probably straight from some chain-gang or work camp! I won't let you do it. I won't let him stay!"

While both those thoughts had crossed her own mind, Beka didn't show it. If she had had any doubts about asking Harper to stay, Bobby's objection pushed them all aside. He was making her so angry she was willing to let Harper stay on, if only to spite Bobby.

"Since when have you had the right to tell me what to do on my own ranch?" she shot back, her eyes flashing dangerously. "I've been running the Maru since I was twenty years-old, long before you came into my life. I said the kid's staying, so he's staying. End of discussion. And if you want to be staying as well, you ought to think real hard where I stand in your list of priorities. Am I at the top, or am I behind a bottle and a good poker game?"

Bobby's eyes clouded over with anger and his fist clenched like he wanted to strike her, but then he just growled in disgust and moved away.

"Fine. Keep the little runt. Just make sure he stays away from me. And when he knocks you over the head some night and makes off with all your cash, don't come crying to me, because I warned you." He spat the words out and then stumbled down the stairs and over to the horse he had tied to the clothesline.

"Where are you going?" Beka demanded.

"I have someone I need to go see" Bobby retorted, managing to get in the saddle and stay upright. "Don't wait up for me."

"Wasn't planning on it," Beka mumbled watching Bobby ride off in a cloud of dust. Wondering just what had gone so wrong between them in the last little while, Beka sighed and went back into the house.

She was _not_ prepared for the sight that met her eyes. A steady geyser of water was shooting skyward from the pipe her pump handle _used_ to rest on and the sink appeared to have eaten half of her new hired hand. Only his legs and grimy bare feet were visible sticking out from under the cupboard in the growing puddle of water spreading across her kitchen floor.

"What in the name of all that's holy are you doing?" she cried, stunned by the mess. She'd only left him alone for ten minutes!

She heard a sharp crack and a muffled "Ouch!" from inside the cupboard and guessed she must have scared him. Seconds later, his spiky blonde locks appeared from underneath her sink and terrified blue eyes met hers. Drops of water had mixed with the dirt on his face, leaving streaks that showed pale skin underneath.

"I'm sorry, Lady! I'm sorry! I can fix it, I promise! I just wanted to do something for ya, since you fed me and all. I didn't know the whole handle would come off like that, really I didn't! And I can fix it, just give me a minute!

His words tumbled out so fast Beka had a hard time following them and he cowered back into the cupboard like he was waiting for blows to rain down. She could tell he was expecting her to explode in rage, but it was actually a very different emotion she felt growing inside her. Harper just looked so much like a five year-old caught with his fingers in the pie. Finally, she couldn't hold it back and loud giggles welled up and burst out. Soon, she was laughing heartily, tears of mirth streaming down her face.

Harper stared at her like she'd grown another head, water dripping from his bony frame and pooling on the ground. He could have caught flies in his gaping mouth and this set Beka laughing even harder. Tentatively, like he was unsure of his footing, he stepped forward.

"Um…Lady. Ain't you mad that I broke your pump?" he ventured.

Still smiling, Beka shook her head. "Shorty, it's just a little water," she told him, remembering how good it felt to really laugh. "It's not gonna hurt anything."

Unbelievable relief and disbelief washed over his face and he broke into a smile that lit the whole room. With a start, Beka realized there were dimples living in those thin cheeks covered with dirt.

"Well, don't worry, Lady. I can have it fixed in a jiffy and then I'll be on my way," he boasted, his confidence returned. "Trust in the Harper, the Harper is good," he assured her with a wink.

He started fiddling with the pieces of her pump, swiftly fitting them together. Beka stepped up beside him, noting absently that he really did seem to know what he was doing.

"You still planning on going into Andromeda to find a job?" she asked him as he worked.

"Yeah," he replied distractedly.

"What about staying here, at the Eureka Maru?"

A bolt slipped out of his hand and clattered into the sink. He looked up at Beka in confusion and she hurried on before he could open his mouth.

"Look, I have 160 acres of land here, 30 head of cattle, 15 horses, and two milk cows. On top of that there's the chickens, the garden, the house, and the barn to take care of. It's way too much for one person, or even two people to handle. I could use some extra help. Now I'm not rich; I really couldn't pay you, but I do promise you a warm place to sleep, decent clothes to wear, and plenty of good food to eat." _And that no one will ever lay a hand on you if I can help it_, she added to herself. "What do you say?"

When his power of speech finally returned he had a question of his own. "I thought you didn't trust me?"

"I don't," she answered truthfully. "Consider yourself still on probation. However, until you give me reason not to, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. But remember, my place-my rules. You decide to stay, you agree to live by those rules. If you're crew on my ranch, you do what I say, understood?"

He appeared to be thinking it over.

"Does that other guy live here, too?" he finally asked.

"Yes," Beka answered. She wasn't going to tiptoe around this. Harper would have to learn to deal with Bobby, just like Bobby would have to deal with Harper.

"A place to stay?" he repeated. She nodded. "And I get more than two meals a week?" he questioned.

"Harper, you get at least two meals a _day_," she told him forcefully.

He thought for a moment more. Finally, he nodded his head firmly. "Alright, Lady, I'll do it."

"Good," she told him with a smile. "And the first rule? Don't call me 'Lady.' Makes me feel like a prissy society dame. It's Beka, or Boss if you're more comfortable with that."

"Sure," Harper shrugged. "Um, Boss?" he called, stepping away from the sink.

"Yeah, Kiddo?"

"Your pump's fixed."

Surprised, she realized the water had stopped flowing and the pump was back in one piece. She reached out and pumped the handle. Clear, cool water flowed from its mouth. She hadn't even noticed that he'd kept working all through their discussion! Startled, she raised an eyebrow; there was more to this kid than met the eye.

"Thank you, Harper," she told him with sincerity. "You did good work. Now I have another job for you. I need you to fill all those pots with water and put them on the stove to heat while I clean up this mess."

With a shrug, he did as he was told. She turned her attention to mopping up the floor, and then pulled several items from a cupboard and placed them on the table. As they worked, she tried to strike up a conversation, wanting to know more about him.

"So, you said your name is Seamus. Are you Irish?"

He looked at her closely, his eyes narrowing to study her face. He finally seemed to decide she was no threat and shrugged his shoulders.

"Aye," he replied, unconsciously deepening his brogue. "I was born there. I don't remember it much, just that it was really green and I liked the sea. We left when I was seven."

"Why?"

She had to wait for a particularly violent coughing fit to pass before he could answer.

"Again, I don't remember a whole lot. I just know we were always hungry. Máthar and Da said there was something wrong with the ground and the potatoes wouldn't grow."

Beka nodded. She'd heard of the famine in Ireland. Thousands had fled to avoid starvation. "So you came to America. Your whole family?"

She was fishing and they both knew it, but Harper finally answered, if in a somewhat quieter voice.

"Aye, all that was left of it. My aunt, uncle, and two cousins Declan and Siobhan had already died. Máthar, Da, my two little sisters Aileen and Mairead, my cousin Brendan and I all came across at the same time."

She hesitated to ask the next question but if this boy was going to be living under her roof she felt she had a right to know. "Where are they now?"

He was silent for a long time and the only sound she heard was the gurgling of the water in the pots as it started to heat up. Just when she was beginning to wonder if he'd heard her at all he spoke, almost in a whisper.

"Máthar, Aileen and Mairead died on the ship. Measles. Da died two years later after we'd come to Boston. I have no idea where Brendan is."

His short, clipped sentences let Beka know the conversation was over, which was fine with her because she really couldn't think of anything to say to that.

A strained silence filled the small room as Beka moved to the stove and checked on the water. It was Harper who finally broke it.

"So, Boss, what's all the water for?"

"That water, my friend, is for you."

"Me? What am I supposed to do with a bunch of hot water?"

"Bathe in it," Beka stressed with a pointed glance up and down his small frame. He squeaked, looking like she'd just suggested he walk over hot coals instead of soak in a tub of warm water and she smiled. "Don't worry, I doubt you'll wash away. But first, we have another task," she said walking to the table where she had placed two small wash tubs and a few towels. She poured some of the warm water into one basin and gestured for Harper.

"Come over here and take off your shirt."

"What!" he cried, moving away in alarm.

"Harper, right now you have so many vermin living in your hair you could make a fortune if you charged rent. They're not gonna go away with a little hot water and you are not staying in this house covered in lice. We need to douse your head in kerosene to kill the little bugs before you take a bath. I'm gonna help you because A. I don't want you pouring it in your eyes or down your throat and B. I don't want it getting in those sores on your wrists," she said firmly, giving him no room for argument.

He argued anyway.

"But, Boss, I'm a big boy. I can do it myself."

"Sorry, no but's."

" Well, I ain't takin' my shirt off," he said stubbornly, folding his arms protectively across his chest and taking another step backwards.

"Look, Kiddo, this is for your own good. It's ten times easier to wash kerosene off your skin than out of your clothes. The shirt comes off."

Harper tried a different tactic.

"But you're a _girl_!"

"How very astute of you," Beka laughed. "And I'm also old enough to almost be your mother, or at least an older sister. Nice try."

She couldn't figure out why he was being so stubborn about this. He didn't seem the type to be embarrassed about showing a little chest around a girl; in fact, she was almost surprised he hadn't suggested it yet himself. But the more she pushed, the more he withdrew. He was even starting to get angry.

"I won't do it. You can't make me."

_Sigh_. She really didn't have time for this. "Actually, I can. I'm the boss, remember? My house-my rules, etc. and so on. Now get over here and lose the shirt or I'll take it off myself. I don't have all day."

He glared at her but could see she wasn't going to budge. The anger in his eyes slowly drained, leaving behind something that Beka thought looked suspiciously like humiliation. With shuffled steps, he approached the table, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. He suddenly seemed unable to meet her eyes and Beka was puzzled; this kid's swift mood changes left her baffled.

A few moments later the puzzlement disappeared with sickening clarity. The kid peeled off his ragged shirt to reveal a body so pale and emaciated Beka could actually count each rib. She'd been expecting that; it didn't surprise her.

But the rest did.

Scattered across his chest were scars of all shapes and sizes, some old looking, some fairly new. Here and there she could also see the remnants of a nasty bruise, its colors faded to an unhealthy greenish-yellow. But it was when Harper turned his back to her to set his shirt down on the bench that she had to stifle a gasp. Her mind flashed back to the moment of pain he'd shown when he bumped the railing, or the stiff way he got to his feet in the barn; now she understood. Stripes laced across his back and shoulders, layer upon awful layer. The newest were puckered and scabbed and a few still oozed slightly; the skin around them red and inflamed, clearly infected.

Beka knew of only one thing that could leave marks like that and she shuddered. She then thought of the rings of welts on his wrists and his ankles, plus what she's just seen and a hot anger burned through her. _He was just a boy!_ She didn't care what he'd done or where he'd come from, _no one_ deserved to be subject to that kind of abuse, least of all a kid. And from the looks of him, he'd obviously endured years of it.

Harper simply stood before her, his eyes still fixed on her shoes. He was waiting for her to say something, _anything_, but she found her voice had deserted her completely. Finally, he shivered slightly and stifled a cough.

"You gonna dump that stuff on my head or not?" he muttered, trying to fill the horrid silence.

His words forced her away from the awful sight and back to the task at hand.

"Yeah, come sit over here by the basin," she said kindly, trying not to stare in horror and open pity at the scars.

He came and sat down and she urged him to lean backwards over the empty basin. The edge of the table must have been murder digging into his raw back, but he said nothing, simply letting her support his head while she poured the foul smelling liquid liberally through his hair. Normally, Beka would have been disgusted by the dozens of little black bugs that fell dead out of his hair and into the basin below, but her thoughts were preoccupied. She was concentrating to avoid spilling in his face and eyes, but she was also trying to keep the stinging liquid from leaking down his back and into those festering sores. Eventually, after four washings, she decided she'd satisfactorily wiped out the unwanted population. She handed him a towel and told him to wipe his face off and turn around on the bench. He obeyed without speaking and the full extend of the damage to his back was exposed again. Beka found she had a hard time continuing.

"Now lean forward and use the water in this basin to rinse your hair a bit," she said quietly, deciding to let him retain a little dignity and do this part himself. "It will keep your bath water from getting too kerosene-y."

Again he did as he was told, splashing the warm water over his head and neck. In the process, the grime started to wash away from his hands and arms as well and Beka noticed something that caught her eye. She reached forward and took his left hand, turning it over so the palm faced up. Startled, Harper tried to jerk his arm away but this time she was prepared and held on. Tattooed across the kid's left palm in black ink was the number 98046.

"What's this," she asked, her eyebrows rising once more.

"What's it look like?" Harper replied snarkily, finally managing to pull his hand out of her grasp. "It's a tattoo."

She could tell she was pushing at sensitive subjects, but this was just one mystery too many. For her own safety, she needed to know.

"I meant, where'd you get it?"

His glare became ice and his voice hard.

"Prison."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Deputy Telemachus Rhade (1) strode purposefully down the boardwalk toward the Marshal's office. Andromeda was a small town and news traveled fast, and this was news he knew the Marshal would be interested in knowing.

Entering the office, he let his eyes roam, looking for the object of his pursuit. The building was small; only two cells, a desk, a bench, and a hat rack. There was no place to hide, but someone was trying anyway.

Sitting at his desk, Marshal Dylan Hunt _(I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I should NOT interrupt like this, but come on… Doesn't the name Dylan Hunt just scream Marshalhood to you?)_ had his chair tipped back, feet propped up, and his hat pulled down over his eyes; engaged in the age old game of 'if I can't see you, you can't see me.'

Rhade shrugged his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes and smiled wickedly, running a hand over the two-day's growth of stubble that shaded his chin. This was just too good to pass up.

Mindful of the second-to-last floorboard on the right that squeaked, he carefully approached the good Marshal's chair. Chairs that only rested on two legs had such a bad habit of tipping over.

Within range, he reached out…

"Don't even think about it, Mac. I'll just shoot you and say it was an accident. I'm the marshal, I can do that."

Darn him! The man never even lifted his hat!

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Dylan," Rhade said, quickly changing the reach to a nudge on the shoulder. "I just came to tell you that I have news."

Dylan sat up and pushed his hat back to its proper place, giving the man a 'yeah right' look. Rhade had been his best friend since they ran away as teenagers and joined the army together back in '35. They were polar opposites; Rhade the eternal survivalist and pessimist, and Dylan was optimism personified. But somehow, they complimented each other and the friendship had survived. And that was saying a lot. They'd been through some pretty rough times.

Unable to stop himself, Dylan's eyes strayed to the framed black and white photo on his desk, tracing the figure represented with longing. _Sara_ - his beloved wife - his beloved _dead_ wife. It had been three years and he still wasn't over it completely. But he knew he never would have gotten this far without the friendship and support of Rhade.

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts that would just bring him down, he grinned and stood up to face his deputy.

"I'll remember that you were not plotting _anything_ having to do with chairs and falling, but you better watch out next time we play poker. Now what's the news."

Rhade unconsciously shifted from friend mode to business mode and placed his hands behind his back. "Anasazi's in town."

OOOOO

It was just barely past noon but already music and smoke were spilling from the swinging doors of Pieces of Eight saloon and into the street. Frontier life was hard. There was always someone trying to drown their sorrows in a glass no matter what the time.

Dylan pushed the doors inward and entered the room, looking around. A short, fat man was coxing music out of something that vaguely resembled a piano, and the stage was full of rustling skirts and flashing sequins.

After a moment, his gaze settled on the bar. There, leaning languidly against it, was the object of his pursuit. With purpose, he crossed the room and leaned against the bar next to him, waving away the bartender's attentions.

The man never moved, never acknowledged Dylan's presence, even though the Marshal knew he was aware of him.

"Anasazi," Dylan spoke firmly, not turning either. Two could play the stoic game.

Slowly, the large man shifted slightly. "Marshal," he intoned in a deep voice. He was not any taller than Dylan, but he was considerably larger. His skin was dark and smooth and he wore his long, dread-locked hair tied back at the nap of his neck with a leather strap. He was dressed all in black with twin, pearl-handled guns strapped low on his hips. His whole attitude screamed calm, strength, and control; deadly control.

"What are you doing in my town, Anasazi?" Dylan asked, refusing to be intimidated.

"I was unaware that people were required to state their business upon visiting this town," he replied calmly.

"Most people, no. People like you, yes," Dylan said. "Now I ask you again, what are you doing in my town, Anasazi?"

"I am simply indulging in a little refreshment in this fine establishment, Marshal. And my business is none of your concern."

"Someone like you comes to town, I _make_ it my business," Dylan stressed.

"I have done nothing to merit your attention."

"And as long as you keep it that way, we have no problem. But I'm warning you, Anasazi, you stir up on ounce of trouble and I'll be on you faster than you can blink."

The large man simply stared straight ahead, absolutely nothing showing on his face; not concern, not acknowledgement, not even amusement. Finally, he downed the rest of his shot and set the glass down on the bar, turning to face Dylan.

"Now let me tell you something, Marshal Hunt. My business is my own and you would do well to stay out of it. I will not tolerate your _noble_ attempts to interfere."

"You stay on the right side of the law I'll stay out of your business. Cross that line and the game changes." Dylan gave him a hard gaze and then pushed away from the bar. "And I _will_ be watching you."

"I would expect nothing less," Anasazi responded evenly. Their eyes met briefly in open challenge and then Dylan, feeling he had made his point, left the saloon.

For several minutes, Tyr Anasazi remained standing in silence at the bar, to all observers paying his surroundings no attention. But those observers didn't know him very well.

"Are you going to hide in the shadows watching me all afternoon, or would you prefer to come out and speak face to face?"

From the corner closest to Tyr, Gerentex emerged and approached him, his weasely little face pulled in a frown.

"I hired you to do a job, not buddy up to the local lawman! What part of discrete did you fail to understand?"

Tyr's eyes flashed menacingly and he leaned into the banker's face, causing Gerentex's smug look to falter. "I am well aware of the specifics of our contract, and I assure you they will be carried out. In the mean time it would be better for your safety and my temperament if we were not seen together," he growled.

Gerentex took two steps back in terror, and then tried to cover it with a self-righteous smile.

"Just make sure he's dead. Nothing more, nothing less."

That said, his courage failed him and he fled the saloon, leaving Tyr once more alone with his thoughts.

OOOOO

_Meanwhile, back at the ranch…_

Now it was Beka's turn to glare. "I thought you told me you hadn't been to prison, that you hadn't done anything wrong. You lied to me?" she accused.

"I told you I hadn't _escaped_ from prison. Never said I hadn't been there. And I didn't do anything wrong."

She crossed her arms and waited for him to explain, but the stubborn set of his jaw said he would offer no more information.

"Harper," she sighed, "I've seen the marks on your wrists and your ankles. I know what makes those and most people don't wear them to be fashionable. I've also seen the scars now and the tattoo. I'm drawing all the wrong conclusions here and unless you set me straight I'm gonna feel more inclined to drag you off to the marshal than hire you on as a ranch hand." She wouldn't really. She didn't care what crime he'd committed, he didn't deserve the punishment she saw evidence of on his small body and there was no way on earth she'd drag him back for more. But he didn't need to know that. She wanted answers and if she had to sweat them out of him, so be it.

Moments passed and their twin glares stretched into a battle of wills. Finally, Harper folded. Beka had guessed he would; she held all the cards and he knew it.

"I was eleven, okay," he said quietly. "Da died when I was nine and it was just me and Brendan left. Just two kids alone on the streets of that city; the only way to stay alive was to steal. We picked a pocket here, stole food from a cart there. I had no choice! Don't try and tell me it was wrong to want to stay alive!"

He paused to cough and his slight frame shook with the stress.

"When I was eleven I got caught. Two other boys ratted us out. Brendan got away, but the police grabbed me. Boston had a "tough on crime" stance and it didn't matter that I was only a kid, they threw me in prison like I was a hardened criminal. I was supposed to be there for three years; their way of keeping the streets safe I guess."

"What happened?" Beka asked. She didn't doubt his words; there was too much pain and bitterness inside for them to be lies.

"Some guy on a charity crusade came through the prison when I'd been there a year. He convinced the authorities that me and some of the other kids stuck in that pit could be _rehabilitated_. Had these grand ideas of saving lost children and finding them homes and families, and he got us released and took us to an orphanage in New York. It wasn't all that bad. For the first time in over a year I got to go outside, see the sky. He gave us clean clothes and good food and I even kinda liked the other kids."

He paused for a moment and Beka thought he might not continue, but she sensed the story wasn't over. His words explained the tattoo, but the scars and wounds she could see were more recent than that. And if he had gotten this kind of abuse at the orphanage, she doubted he would be praising it.

"And?" she prompted when he'd been silent for too long.

The kid sighed. When he started talking again, the words came out dead and expressionless, like he was reciting multiplication tables.

"After we'd been there for a few weeks, about a hundred of us were given an extra set of clothes and packed onto a train headed west. No one asked me if I wanted to go or even told me it was coming; I just got put on a train and sent west. Two days later, we stopped in St. Joe and they divided us up into groups to go by wagon to different frontier towns. In each town, groups of people were waiting for us. We were paraded out for them to see; I felt like a horse for sale. Eventually, each kid was "adopted" into a family and we all went our separate ways."

He stopped, a hard look in his eyes warning her not to push any further, but his words didn't add up. _Adopted_? That didn't sound so bad. In fact, that actually sounded good for the kid; a home, family, people to take care of him. So why was he showing up on her doorstep, starved and abused?

"Harper, you were adopted? Into a family?"

"Yeah."

"Surely this guy had a good idea then, giving all you kids new homes and families. I don't understand what happened, how you ended up like this. What's wrong with a family?"

"Some families are better than others," he said evasively.

"Harper, what did…"

"Am I ever gonna get that bath, _Boss_," Harper interrupted, wrapping his arms around his sad torso, "or do I have to sit here half dressed all day? You've seen the show, you've heard the gripping tale, either give me back my shirt or let me get on with the bath thing."

Beka could tell he was fighting rising emotions and it was expressing itself in growing rage. She decided details would have to wait until later.

"Yeah, sorry. Grab that big metal tub off the wall and put it in the middle of the floor. Start pouring the hot water into it and I'll be right back. I've got to get you a few things."

Confident he'd follow her directions she left him to his task and climbed the stairs to one of the bedrooms. This had been her brother's room when they were growing up and some of Rafe's old things were still stored here. She entered and went to the dresser, rummaging around. She found a shirt and a pair of pants, as well as some grey long-johns. They would drown the boy, but at least they were clean. And in reality, they wouldn't fit any worse than the rags he was already wearing. They would do until she could clean, wash, and mend his own clothes. She wished she could just take him to town and buy him a whole new outfit but that cost money and she wasn't exactly rolling in that at the moment. She was, however, going to get the doctor out there to look at him as soon as she could, money or not. His back, wrists and ankles were obviously badly infected and his cough worrisome. She didn't want the kid dropping dead if she could prevent it.

On her way back down, she stopped at the pantry and grabbed a bar of homemade soap and some clean bandages. She entered the kitchen to find the tub full and Harper waiting for her, still wearing his trousers and eyeing the water dubiously.

"Harper," she laughed, glad to finally relieve the tension, "You're not gonna melt away, I promise."

He looked as though he didn't believe her but said nothing.

Beka just smiled and shook her head. "Here's some clean clothes for when you're done. They're too big, but they'll have to do until I can clean and fix yours. Oh, and sorry, but I don't have any shoes that will fit you. You'll have to go barefoot until we can go into town."

"Never had any shoes before, anyway," Harper muttered and Beka sighed as another sad fact of her new charge's life leaked out.

"Here's the soap; use it liberally! And take your time. It will probably do you good to soak in the warm water. When you're done, leave your shirt off again. I want to at least bandage those wounds on your back until I can get the doctor out here to look at you, as well as your wrists and ankles."

Harper stiffened at her last words, his eyes clouding again. "I ain't going to no doctor."

"Harper," she started to protest but he interrupted.

"Look, Boss, I've done everything you said. I've answered your questions and let you see things I never wanted anyone to see. I'm not gonna have some doctor staring at me like I'm a freak show, or worse, dragging me off to lock me up again. Now you've been real good to me and I realize you're the boss, but there are some things I draw the line at, rules or not."

Beka sighed. "Alright, but you are still gonna let me bandage them. And you'll have to put up with my home remedies for your cough." She wasn't happy, but he was right. She'd put him through enough today; they could broach the doctor issue again another time. "Well, I'll leave you to enjoy your bath. I'll be working in the garden, just come find me when you're done."

OOOOO

Beka had done one row of corn and was starting on her second when she heard the wagon approaching. Setting down her hoe, she pulled off her gloves and wiped the sweat from her forehead before walking around to the front. The wagon pulled to a stop under the big cottonwood tree in the yard, and she couldn't help but smile at the person driving.

"Rev!"

"Rebekah, child. It is good to see you."

"Good to see you, too, Rev. You haven't been by for a while," she said, reaching up to help the man down from the wagon-seat.

"Ah, thank you child," he smiled, straightening his dusty brown robes. "These bumpy roads are murder on my old bones."

Beka giggled. She couldn't help it; Rev Bem had a way of bringing out the little girl in her. That was probably because he was one of the few people around who had known her as a little girl.

To say that Brother Behemial Far-Traveler had lead an interesting life was something of an understatement. In his youth he had been wild and impulsive. Together with his three friends-Sid Barry, Fred Vexpeg, and Beka's father, Ignatius Valentine-he had traveled the west, looking for adventure. And somehow adventures always managed to find them. Together they joined the Texas Rangers. When that ended, they tried ranching. Ignatius bought the land he named the Eureka Maru and settled his new bride on it, offering the other three jobs as his crew and his partners. For several years, it was the epitome of success.

But it was too good to last.

Soon there was a bad harvest. Then there were several years of drought. Debts mounted and Ignatius took to frequenting the saloon. His wife, a pretty little society thing, couldn't hack it and she left him with two young children to raise. Ignatius sunk even lower into debt and drunkenness and Sid took it upon himself to seek "other" means of employment.

When Vexpeg and Rev found out about Sid's criminal activities, they confronted him; a confrontation that left Vexpeg dead, Sid on the run, and Rev with a face so scarred it barely resembled a face anymore. It also left him with a change of heart and a new determination to make something good of his miserable life.

And that was how Ben "Red" Plague, a man of the gun, became Rev Bem, a man of the cloth. He took his vows that very year and quickly made it his goal to build up the faltering mission just outside of Andromeda. It took some doing to get people to see through the disfigured face to the heart inside, but he never gave up. He also took it upon himself to make sure Beka and her brother Rafe were cared for. He became the substitute father/teacher/guide they lacked in Ignatius. It was Beka who gave him the nickname Rev Bem and it stuck, even though he was not technically a Reverend. And even though Beka was more than capable of looking after herself these days, Rev still liked to check up on her as often as he could.

"Rev, you know you aren't that old," Beka scolded playfully. "You just like to milk my sympathies."

"Ah, well, it works, doesn't it?" he replied, looping the reigns around the hitching post.

She smiled again, glad to be teased by her old friend. And what a wonderful friend he was. She knew he did not approve of her relationship with Bobby-he saw too much of her father in Bobby-but he didn't let that come between their friendship.

Today, she was particularly glad to see Rev. His appearance could be the answer to her concerns about what to do for Harper.

"Why did you come out today, Rev?"

"I was in my study meditating and I felt the need to come and see you."

Beka gave him a skeptical look.

"Now child, the Devine works in mysterious ways. Ours is not to question why, but simply to obey. And judging from your response, I believe I am right, am I not? There is something troubling you."

Her smile slid off her face with a sigh.

"Yes," she said simply. "You don't happen to have your medicine satchel with you?"

"Of course. I never travel without it."

"Good. You'd better come inside, then."

Together they walked to the back porch and climbed the steps. Beka hesitated at the door, however, and Rev watched curiously.

"His name is Seamus Zelazny Harper and he's a mess, just so you know," she said to her friend.

Then she knocked on the door.

"Harper?" she called. "Harper, are you done? Can I come in again?"

Beka waited for a few seconds. She was about to ask again when she heard a muffled 'yeah.' Taking a deep breath and stealing herself for the confrontation she knew was going to happen, she pushed the door open and entered the room.

A considerably cleaner and paler Harper sat on the bench at the table, scowling at her. His now very-blonde hair was sticking up wildly in all directions and, surprisingly, he had obeyed her last command. His shirt was lying next to him on the bench and his arms were wrapped tightly around his chest, whether out of shame, cold, or an attempt to keep the too-large pants from falling off she didn't know. With the dirt gone, the scars and wounds on his chest and back stood out much clearer and she couldn't help a small shudder. So much pain and hurt on such a young kid; it wasn't right. She didn't have time to dwell on that, at the moment though, because said kid was glaring daggers at her.

The look changed from anger to outright betrayal when he saw that she wasn't alone, and he jumped to his feet grabbing for his shirt.

"Hey!" he yelled, his eyes blazing, "I said no doctors!"

"Harper," Beka said calmly, holding her hands out and stepping toward the panicky young man. "He isn't a doctor. He's a monk. And he's my friend."

For his own part, Rev remained silent. He was surprised to find the boy sitting in Beka's kitchen, but he took it all in stride. He knew Beka would explain everything when she had the chance. And for now, his own eyes were telling him enough to know the boy needed his care. The rest could wait.

Stepping closer, Beka grabbed the shirt Harper was trying to pull on and stopped him, taking it from his hands. "Harper, you need some kind of medical attention. You won't let me get the doctor, so you will have to settle for Rev. He has a lot of training in herbs and Indian medicines. He can help you!"

He voice was kind but firm, leaving no room for argument, but Harper still kept backing away. 

"But, Boss," he whispered now, his eyes darting fearfully toward Rev Bem and lingering on his heavily scarred face, "he don't look like no monk. He looks like a monster…"

Again, Beka sighed. There was no predicting this kid! One minute he was tough as nails and ready to take on the world, and the next he was acting like a scared five-year-old. Someone had seriously messed him over, and not just physically.

"You have scars too, but I didn't call you a monster, did I?" she shot back. It was probably a rather dirty move, but she needed to get through to the kid, preferably before the new century dawned.

It worked. All of Harper's resistance drained away leaving only the scared, humiliated, hurting boy behind. A cough that sounded more like a sob wracked through his slight body, causing him to almost double over.

Rev saw all this and decided to step forward.

"Master Harper, my name is Brother Behemial Far-Traveler, but my friends call my Rev Bem. I assure you I mean you no harm, and I would like it very much if I could be your friend as well. If you will allow me to help you, I am sure I have some medicines that could ease your cough and help heal your wounds."

Ignoring Beka, Rev watched Harper closely, sensing it was important for Harper to make this choice on his own. Finally, Harper nodded slightly, although it was more in defeat than acceptance.

"Very good," Rev smiled and then turned to Beka. "If you could leave us, Rebekah. I'm sure Master Harper would appreciate the privacy."

Beka was about to protest, but she caught an almost imperceptible shake from Rev and thought better of it. With a nod, she left the room to wait in the parlor.

It was almost an hour later when Rev finally emerged from the kitchen to find Beka pacing in the sitting room. He smiled. She might not know it yet, but he could tell Harper was going to be very important to her and, more likely than not, Harper could help Beka as much as Beka could help him.

"So?" she rounded on him. "Where is he?"

"I took the liberty of putting him to bed in Rafe's old room. He was trying to hide it, but between the malnutrition, the illness, and the stress of today, he was exhausted. And now that he's settled, it would probably be a good time to explain exactly how this young man came to be in your home."

Quickly, Beka filled him in on all that had happened since she found Harper sleeping in her barn, including what Harper had revealed about his past and her own plans to keep him on as a hired hand. Then she had to ask a question of her own.

"Will he be alright?"

"With time, yes. The wounds on his back are badly infected; I recommend keeping a close eye on them. And the cough is troubling but with proper rest and care, it should fade. His wrists and ankles will heal quickly, however, now the source of the irritation has been removed."

Beka accepted his words, but didn't speak. Her face was wrinkled in thought. Finally, she couldn't hold it back any longer and she turned to her long-time friend for answers.

"Rev, am I nuts here? I mean, I know nothing about this kid! Everything he's told me could be a lie! And you saw the condition he's in, especially the marks on his wrists and ankles. What family does that to a kid? He has to be straight from some prison or chain gang!"

Rev was silent for a long time. When he did speak, it was with care.

"Beka, has he given you any reason to doubt him?"

"Well, no…but…"

"Rebekah, I have heard of these orphan trains. While in general it is a grand idea and most children go to loving homes, I am sad to admit that is not always the case. Many of the children are looked on as nothing more than free labor, mere servants or worse, slaves, by their new "families."

Beka considered his words, knowing Rev would not be telling her this if he wasn't sure of its truth. But she couldn't help still being skeptical.

"But the tattoo, Rev! And the marks on his wrists and ankles, not to mention the other scars. And he freely admitted he's been to prison. How do I know he hasn't really just spent the last ten years there?"

"Do you know why that tattoo was placed on his palm?"

"No," she answered, not sure where he was going with this.

"Because he was a pick-pocket. He was marked on his hand so that anyone who saw him for the rest of his life would know of his crimes and be wary. It is a common practice with young prisoners, meant to discourage them from returning to their crimes. And it is proof that that part of his story, at least, is true."

He watched her for a moment but continued before she could speak.

"Now, if that part is true, let us assume for a moment the rest is as well. Let us suppose young Master Harper is pulled from the prison and sent west on one of those orphan trains. Anyone who comes to meet those children and take them into their homes is going to notice that tattoo. Do you think many people are going to want to adopt a convicted criminal? My guess is that only those who care only for a child's work value would overlook that very telling mark on the boy's hand."

Beka had stopped pacing, Rev's words forcing her to consider angles of the issue she hadn't before. 

"Now, let's supposed Harper was "adopted" by people who only cared for his ability to work," Rev went on. "I doubt they would take much care in his personally welfare. They might even abuse the boy, if his work didn't suit them. You say Harper is a bright boy, am I right?"

Mutely, Beka nodded.

"Being a smart child, I doubt Harper would remain in a place where he was being abused and hurt. He probably tried to run away-several times-and got caught. After a bit, his "family" would have gotten tired of chasing him and taken measures to insure he couldn't run again. It is difficult to run away if one is constantly in chains," he finished gently.

Beka felt as though all the air had been sucked from her body. Weakly, she sank into her rocking chair. It was several minutes before she looked up at Rev again.

"You think that's what happened to him?"

Rev came up and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I was only guessing, Beka, but it would not be unbelievable."

He waited for her to speak again, but she seemed to be lost in thought.

"Rebekah," he finally said, sitting next to her on another chair, "I don't know the details of Master Harper's life, I can only speculate based on what you have told me. But I do know what I saw in his eyes as I helped him. Underneath all the hurt and the anger and the cockiness, I believe there is a good heart and a bright mind. And what's more, I believe the Lord has sent him here. There is a reason you found him in your barn; you are meant to help him."

Finally, Beka smiled. "Somehow, Rev, no matter what is going on, you always manage to get a plug in for the Lord."

Rev smiled back. "Ah, child, I'm afraid I can't help it. After all, it is my job. Besides, from what I've seen of the young man currently fast asleep in your house, you are going to need all the help you can get."

(1) Okay, I know I said this would be Pre-Drom, first seasons drom, but I guess in one instance, I lied. For the purposes of this story, Telemachus Rhade is a combination of Gaheris and Telemachus, with parts of Gaheris' background and friendship with Dylan combined with Telemachus' personality. And this Telemachus resembles 5th season Rhade both physically and temperamentally. I just found the scruffy, rugged, sometimes drunken Rhade fit my story much better than the spit-and-polish one.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Cautiously, Bobby rode his horse into the ravine, his eyes scanning the surrounding foliage. Just ahead, a camp was visible, horses tethered on the edges and a cook fire smoking in the middle, men milling about. It looked innocent enough, but Bobby knew there were hidden guards and he was being watched. Still, no one stopped him as he rode into the midst of the camp.

"Jensen!" someone called out catching Bobby's attention. He glanced around, noticing the scruffy man addressing him.

"Edwards," he answered with a nod.

"You here to see Mr. Profit again?" Edwards asked, walking up and taking the bridle of Bobby's horse.

"Yeah," Bobby said, dismounting. "He around?"

"In his tent."

Bobby left his horse in Edwards' care and stepped into the mentioned tent.

"Ah, Bobby, come in."

Bobby knocked the dust from his hat and pushed a lock of stringy brown hair out of his face as he stepped toward the man at the table.

Sam Profit waved him forward, not looking up from the map he was studying. Mr. Profit was a tall man with a slight Southern accent and an air of gentility, a carefully constructed air. That mask of culture was used to hide the ruthlessness that lay just beneath the surface, waiting to pounce.

Profit pointedly ignored the man waiting for several minutes, another show of power he knew would not be lost. Finally, he glanced up.

"So, Bobby, what brings you out here again so soon? Did you bring the shipment?"

"I got it, but I didn't bring it with me. Got slowed down by the storm and I had to leave it at the Maru. There were too many eyes around to bring it out now," Bobby explained nervously, watching as Profit frowned. Quickly, he hurried on. "But I'll bring it back out tonight, after it gets dark and I won't even ask for my money until then! I just wanted you to know why I was late!"

For a moment it look as though Sam Profit was going to blow and Bobby was going to get caught in the explosion, but just as suddenly, the anger was swept from his face and replaced with a friendly smile.

"Bobby," he said, walking around the table and placing a brotherly hand on Bobby's shoulder. "As long as it gets here, no harm done." As he spoke, he propelled the other man out of the tent and motioned for him to walk beside him as he survey the camp.

"You're from Virginia, am I correct?"

"Yeah."

"Then you know why these shipments are so important. Everyday the mistreatment of good Southern Gentlemen by this government grows. War is barely being held at bay and if Lincoln wins the election, nothing will hold this country together. The Southern states will secede and war will be inevitable. I believe we shouldn't wait around for the results of an election. We must be ready to aid our brothers in the South now! That is why these shipments are so important, just as your work is so important."

Sam Profit watched with a satisfied smile as the spark of the 'cause' caught and lit up the other man's face. 

"Someday the history books will record your name, Mr. Jensen," Profit told him, another friendly pat on the back. "Just remember that. Now, get back to that ranch and bring me those guns tonight." The grip tightened for a moment. "And don't be late this time."

"I won't be," Bobby assured him. Then he reclaimed his horse and rode off.

"Don't be so sure about that, Mr. Jensen," Sam Profit whispered with a smile, as he watched the man's receding form vanish in the trees.

OOOOO

Beka squinted in the dim light cast by the fireplace, trying to see the gapping hole in the shirt she was mending. In reality the poor thing was more hole than shirt and, as she was the first to admit her skills with a needle wouldn't win any prizes at the county fair, she was struggling. Still, she didn't have the money to buy the kid new clothes right now and she couldn't let him keep wearing them how they were; in their present condition they barely qualified as clothes. As she closed one hole and moved on to another, she felt small sparks of anger flicker inside at the thought that someone, somewhere had thought it perfectly acceptable to keep a child clothed in rags. She could tell, just from the color shift, that today was probably the first time these particular clothes had seen soap and water for years, and the implications of that made her feel slightly sick.

A squeak of one of the steps suddenly drew her eyes from her work to the staircase that hugged one wall of the parlor, the top disappearing into the dark hall upstairs. About halfway down, two intense blue eyes were watching her from the shadows between the railings, fearful and curious at the same time.

"Harper!" she said, startled. "How long have you been sitting there watching me?"

He shrugged slightly, wincing a little.

She noticed the wince and frowned. "You're supposed to be sleeping, you know that?"

"Not tired anymore," he finally spoke. "Don't sleep much."

_Don't sleep much, or not allowed to sleep much_, she wondered sadly, but didn't say anything out loud.

"Well, why are you just sitting there on the steps then? You can come down here and keep me company if you want."

He looked decidedly uncomfortable at the suggestion and didn't budge a bit. The night somehow seemed to have stripped all the cockiness and self-assurance from him, leaving only his obvious youth and vulnerability behind. His eyes never left hers, however, and she got the feeling there was something he was trying to say.

"What is it Harper?" she prompted gently, waiting for one of his coughing fits to pass.

"I just…well…wanted to say thanks for the food and bath and medicines and nice bed and clothes and such," he finally muttered, holding up his carefully bandaged wrists incase she didn't understand what he was trying to say.

"You're welcome, Harper."

"I'm feeling much better now. I can go back to the barn now," his voice was quite and his eyes distrustful still, as if he expected the joke to be turned on him at any second. "I really shouldn't be in your house, Boss. It ain't right."

Beka sighed.

"Harper, come here," she ordered, kindly but with no room for argument.

He hesitated for just a second before obeying, hitching up the pants that kept trying to sag off his bony frame as he walked. Beka noted he stopped before he was actually within arms reach of her.

"Sit down," Beka said next, pointing to a chair across from her.

Warily, he sat.

"Good. Now Harper, I want you to listen to me, and listen really good because I don't like having to repeat myself. I _invited_ you into my house and offered you a job. That gives you every right to be in this house. I don't care what your adopted family or anyone else has told you, you have just as much right as anyone to come inside, okay? And until the moment you give me reason to revoke that privilege, that right stands. You don't have to keep asking permission or apologizing. The room Rev put you to bed in is _your_ room until you decide you want to leave, understood?"

Harper looked like he was trying to figure out whether to be shocked, grateful, or still on his guard for a trap. Finally, he nodded that he understood, but Beka wasn't entirely sure which emotion won the battle that inspired the nod.

"Hey, it was part of the deal, remember? You work for me in exchange for food, clothes, and a nice place to stay."

This time she got a small smile.

"Oh yeah, that reminds me," she said brightly, setting down the shirt and pulling something out of the bulging basket of mending. "Rev left these for you. He thought you might need them," she smiled, handing him the pair of braces.

The smile turned into a real grin as he took the items from her hands and made quick work of attaching them to the pants he had been struggling with. Despite his best efforts to hide it, she could tell the effort pulled painfully on still throbbing wounds, but she also knew he would never welcome any offer of help. Finally, the braces were in place and he could stand without risking an indecent act.

"Thanks! These beat rope any day!"

"Not a problem, Kiddo. A pair of suspenders is the least I can do for fixing that sink today."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a horse entering the yard.

"That'll be Bobby," Beka said, standing. "Or at least, it better be…"

Harper's eyes darkened and he moved toward the stairs, wanting to get away.

"No, Harper. Stay. If you're both gonna be living here, you'll have to get used to each other. You can't keep running off anytime Bobby comes into a room."

Before Harper could reply, the door opened and a much soberer Bobby walked into the room, one hand behind his back. Beka watched as Harper straightened and crossed his arms defensively, his "tough-guy" mask literally clicking back into place. Bobby, however, only had eyes for Beka. He made a beeline to her, sweeping off his hat as he stopped before her.

"Ah, Beka, darling! Sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but my appointment took longer than I thought and then I took the liberty of riding the south pasture fence on the way home. I know you've been meaning to do that to make sure it was holding up."

Beka, who'd been ready to launch into a lecture, softened slightly. Bobby took it as a good sign.

"And, on the way home, I also found you these." From behind his back he pulled a large handful of daisies.

"Flowers?" Beka asked, her eyebrows raising. "You brought me _flowers_?" In the background, Harper rolled his eyes. He'd been here all of eighteen hours and he could have figured out not to bring Beka flowers.

"Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman," Bobby leaned forward to whisper. "And to apologize for my behavior this morning. I know how you feel about drinking and I promise never to come home drunk again."

Beka sighed and took the flowers. Bobby was giving her puppy-dog eyes and somehow, no matter what her brain and better sense told her, she could never resist those big, brown, puppy-dog eyes. She loved him; she couldn't help it. She only wished she could believe what he said.

"So," Bobby continued, "what did ya do with the little runt?"

Pointedly, Beka looked toward Harper standing at the foot of the stairs and glaring daggers at her fiancé. Bobby followed her gaze.

"Oh," he grunted. He sized the boy up and down as if appraising new stock and Harper tried to suppress a shudder of fear. He knew that kind of look; he'd been the recipient of it too many times, and he also knew it usually meant pain and trouble for him.

"Do you have to keep it in the house, Beka? You sure it's even house broke?" Bobby finally asked.

"Bobby," Beka warned. She didn't need him undoing all the good she'd just managed to accomplish with the kid.

"Alright, fine. I'll play nice with it," he said, "but I don't want no street rat listening in on our private conversations so I suggest he disappears real quick." He gave Harper a meaningful glare but the boy stood his ground.

"I meant NOW!" Bobby growled loudly, taking a quick step toward the kid and raising his hand. Harper paled and suddenly survival instinct kicked in. Before Beka could say anything, he turned and literally fled up the stairs, all false bravado gone.

Beka turned to her fiancé and sighed. "Bobby, did you have to scare the poor kid to death? He wasn't doing anything wrong by standing there."

"Aw Beks, I was just messing with him. Kid needs to learn to lighten up," Bobby quickly tried to sooth the agitated woman.

"I doubt he found it funny."

"Yeah, well, I don't really care. He's just a hired hand anyway, so you shouldn't care either. Now come on, Baby, it's getting late. We should turn in for the night," he said, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek, then her ears, and then her nose.

"I suppose you're right," she said, slightly distracted as his kisses moved down her neck. "But tomorrow, you will apologize to him, you know…" she murmured.

"Sure thing, Baby," he whispered, leading her toward the stairs.

It was the darkest hour of the night when Bobby quietly hitched the mare to the buckboard and drove it slowly out of the yard. Beka was fast asleep and he knew she wouldn't waken for at least several hours. She was a deep sleeper, something he blessed. He was completely convinced no one would even know he'd been gone in the morning.

And he was completely wrong.

In a dark, second story room a chair was propped against a door for protection and a young body, though weary, knew better than to fall asleep. Beka may have bought Bobby's teasing routine, but she was the only one that did. As Bobby drove the wagon from the yard, those same two, distrustful, blue eyes followed him from the darkened window until he was out of sight.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Harper stayed in his room until it was barely light enough to see outside. When he finally un-barricaded his door and crept down the stairs it was only around four in the morning. Quickly, he pulled his mended clothes from Beka's basket and padded back upstairs. Soon, Rafe's clothes, minus the braces, were folded neatly and laid on the carefully made bed and Harper was silently closing the back door.

An hour later he had finished the work Beka started the day before in the garden. His back was throbbing but he was used to working through pain and didn't really think much of it. He did wish he had more of the tea the monk had given him yesterday to help sooth his cough but didn't dare go back inside to look for it.

The garden finished, he entered the barn figuring he could get the milking done before Beka woke up. He had the first cow in the harness munching grain and her utter washed when he heard the barn door open and saw Bobby creep inside leading the horse.

Harper froze, attempting to blend into the shadows and go unnoticed by the large man. Even partially hidden by the bulk of the Jersey cow, Harper could see that Bobby was sporting a massive black eye and a frown the size of Texas. Apparently, Bobby's business of the night before hadn't gone so well, whatever it was.

Quickly, Bobby took care of the animal and got ready to leave. Harper might have gone unnoticed if the milk cow hadn't chosen that moment to complain about the lack of attention being paid to her. She let out a loud bellow and Bobby turned at the noise. Harper felt the familiar tide of fear well up as Bobby's eyes fell on him and narrowed.

"What are you doing out here, brat?" Bobby hissed, advancing on Harper who scurried several steps back.

"Nothing," Harper tried to defend himself. "I was just doin' the chores."

"Were you spying on me? Poking around the barn in places you shouldn't?" Bobby growled, closing in.

"No!"

Bobby was now directly in front of the boy, having backed Harper into the corner of the stall. He raised a beefy hand and shoved him in the chest, hard. "Don't lie to me, trash! You were spying on me, weren't you! That's what filth like you does!"

"No, sir," Harper stammered, the blow pushing his back painfully into the railing of the stall. "I was just gonna milk…"

"Shut up!" Bobby yelled, pushing him again. This time Harper couldn't stop the small groan of pain that escaped.

Bobby didn't miss it either. A sudden, demonic glint lit up his eyes and he reached out and grabbed both the kid's wrists. Harper struggled like a wild cat but another hard shove from Bobby into the rail put a stop to his efforts. Swiftly, both of Harper's bandaged wrists were captured in one of Bobby's massive hands and he was helpless as the taller man pulled his arms above his head. Harper was then twirled around and his face and hands shoved into the wall. He felt Bobby grab his shirttail and yank it upward underneath the suspenders, exposing his back and the whip marks Rev Bem had left uncovered to aid in their healing. 

"Well, well, well…what have we here?" Bobby muttered, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. "Innocent little orphan…I think not. What would "the boss" think if she knew?" 

"She already does," Harper seethed, the words muffled due to the fact his lips were being smooshed into a wall.

"Fed her some sob story I suppose?" Bobby laughed, "Well, guess what, Kid, I don't buy it!" He ended his sentence by tossing Harper roughly into the dirty straw at his feet.

Harper lay where he fell, overcome by a massive coughing fit. Through his hacking and his gasps for air, he vaguely heard Bobby's threatening.

"You are a liar and a thief and a sneak," he punctuated his point with a nasty kick to Harper's gut. "You may have pulled the wool over Beka's eyes, but you won't fool me. I am your better and will treat you how someone of your status deserves to be treated. And if you want to avoid adding more marks to the collection already on your back, you will do what I tell you to, when I tell you to. You run to Beka with another sob story about how Bobby's being mean to you, I'll personally drag you down to the Marshal and tell him to lock you up. I catch you spying on me again, I'll kill ya. Understand?"

A second kick concluded Bobby's speech and left Harper gasping even more. Needing all his air just to breathe, Harper nodded mutely.

"I highly doubt that. You're too dumb to understand much," Bobby said, looking down at Harper in disgust. "But if you don't get it, I'll be sure to remind you later. Now, get busy with those chores. Beka wants to keep you, you'd better _earn_ your keep!" That said, Bobby left Harper on the floor and walked out.

After a moment or two to calm his coughing, Harper picked himself up off the ground. He gingerly pulled down and re-tucked his shirt and then grabbed the milk pails and stool.

By the time he had the Jersey milked out, one pail brimming with warm milk, he'd decided not to run. As beatings went, what he'd just experienced was rather mild; he'd endured far worse. Bobby was a jerk, but at least he was a rather unimaginative one. As long as he kept his head down and avoided him as much as possible, Harper figured things wouldn't get too bad. And on the plus side, there was Beka. He'd had more to eat yesterday than he'd eaten in the whole two weeks prior. He'd also been given clean clothes, medicines, allowed to sleep – in a bed no less! – and given a job. Even after all the _secrets_ Beka had wormed out of him, she'd still asked him to stay. He knew not to cross good luck like that. Beka had been nicer to him than anyone in the last ten years, and he knew he'd be hard pressed to find another job this good for someone like him. He'd just keep a low profile, do his work, and try not to put Beka in a position to have to believe him over Bobby.

His mind made up, he balanced on the stool and started milking the second cow. His fingers worked with long-practiced familiarity, the milk sounding out a steady tune as it struck the bucket and started to fill it. The sound was hypnotic and he was tired from his sleepless night. Wearily, he let his eyes drift shut and leaned his head against the warm flank of the cow, savoring the peace and quiet of an early morning barn and the company of animals that would never try to hurt him.

He didn't know Beka had come in until he felt her hand on his shoulder, startling him.

"Oh, sorry, Harper," she said when he looked up, jumping slightly. "I didn't mean to startle you, but I've been calling you for ages. I got up and found your clothes folded and bed made and thought you'd taken off for good," she continued, crossing her arms and leaning against the stall as she talked.

"Nah, Boss," Harper grinned, his hands never stopping their rhythm, "I was just getting an early start. Old habits die hard."

"Those clothes were for you to keep, you know. You could give these old things a rest," she said, reaching out and fingering one of his rolled up, frayed sleeves. They were clean and mended as best she could, but they still looked like rags. It made her feel bad to see him still barefoot and in his patched clothes and to know she didn't have the money to get him anything better right now. The now dirty white bandages wrapped around both wrists and both ankles made the picture all the more sad.

"I'm just gonna get dirty again," Harper reasoned with a smile. "No sense ruining good, clean clothes."

Beka decided to let the subject drop.

"I see you know your way around the stock," she said, noting the steadily squirting milk and the already full bucket with approval. "What else did you do this morning when you should have been sleeping?"

A strange look crossed his face, but when he spoke, it was normal enough. "Well, the garden's done, but I didn't have time to get to anything else yet, Boss. I'll be faster tomorrow," he promised.

"Harper," Beka sighed, "You don't have to be faster tomorrow. It's true we get up early around here and we have a lot of work to do, but it's always been my opinion that the dark hours of the morning are for sleeping. If the sun ain't up, we shouldn't be either.

"I told ya, Boss," Harper said, stripping the last of the milk out with long, slow squeezes. "I don't sleep much."

"And I don't buy that. If anyone needs rest, it's you! If you ever want to get over that cough, you need to eat right, sleep lots, and take the medicine Rev left for you, okay?"

Harper rose painfully from the stool carrying the foaming bucket of fresh milk. "Boss, I – "

"Harper," Beka cut him off, "you're no good to me sick."

Finally, she got his attention. The thought of not being needed struck home and he paled slightly.

"Okay, Boss. I'll try to sleep longer tomorrow."

"That's all I ask," she said with a smile, squeezing his shoulder lightly. He smiled back, and then reached for the second bucket, but she stopped him.

"I'll take that one so you won't spill," she told him, picking up the brimming pail. "After we put these away, I'll finish the chores in here if you'll take care of the pigs and the chickens and gather the eggs. Then we'll go find us some breakfast. Oh, and make sure and find all the eggs. When we have a couple dozen saved, we'll take them into town and see if we can't trade them at the store to get you some better clothes. Deal?"

"Deal," Harper grinned and followed her out of the barn. She stopped at a wooden door set in the ground and placed her bucket down so she could pull it open, revealing stone steps leading down into a dark, underground cellar.

"Be careful, the steps can be kind of…"

She trailed off as she turned around and got a good look at the kid. He was pale and shaking, a terrified expression locked on his face, and his eyes were staring straight through her, as if he were seeing horrible things that only he could.

"Harper?" she asked quietly, a little spooked and very confused by his reaction. "Harper, what is it?"

Harper stared at the dark opening and couldn't stop the tide of memories and emotions that rose up and swallowed him without warning. Had he know where they were heading he would have prepared himself and been just fine, but it was too late now. Distantly, he heard Beka's voice and knew he was probably freaking her out, but he couldn't help it. That yawning hole of blackness was all consuming.

"Hey, Kiddo! You're scaring me here!" Beka called loudly. When Harper failed to respond she grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard. 

Finally, he seemed to snap out of whatever dark place he'd been in and made eye contact with her.

"Sorry, Boss," he whispered, still sounding rather lost.

Beka had no idea what had just happened, but realized Harper was in no shape for her to pry. "Not a problem, Shorty. Look, go get started on those chickens. I'll take the milk down to the cellar to cool, alright?"

Silently, he nodded. Quickly, he set his bucket down and rushed off to the chicken coup, leaving a very confused Beka looking after him.

Half an hour later, chores were done and the two were climbing the stairs to the back door, the strange incident forgotten for now.

"No fancy breakfast today, I'm afraid. Just oatmeal and coffee and then back to work," Beka said, opening the door. "There's a lot to do today."

"Where's your fiancé?" Harper asked, hesitantly.

"Bobby?" Beka asked, setting on the coffee pot. "Lazy bum hasn't come out of his room yet. Looked in just before I came out to find you and he was still asleep." She rolled her eyes and Harper ducked his head so she wouldn't see his scowl. "I swear, he gets more useless everyday. If he keeps this up, he'll find himself out on his backside."

The food was on the table and they were just about to start eating when they heard Bobby come down the stairs.

"Good morning, Beka!" he said, coming around the table to give her a kiss, ignoring her frown. "Good morning, _Seamus_," he finished, favoring Harper with a patronizing glare while Beka's head was turned.

"It's Harper," he corrected.

"Yeah, whatever. Move over, runt, you're in my spot."

Harper glared, but moved over, afraid to test his boundaries.

"Bobby, be nice," Beka growled. Suddenly, she noticed the purple shiner gracing the man's face and stood up to touch it. "Bobby, what on earth happened to you? Punch yourself in your sleep?"

Bobby's eyes showed that he had momentarily forgotten the black eye but he quickly pasted back on his charming smile.

"Got up to use the outhouse in the night and walked right into the door!" he flashed a silly, innocent boy grin at Beka. "How pathetic is that?"

"Very," Beka said, but her eyes twinkled. Harper literally had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming at all the lies Bobby was feeding Beka. He'd only know her twenty-four hours but he already liked her and knew she deserved better than a looser like Bobby. She was just too close to him to see what a creep he really was.

"Next time, close the door and it won't happen," Beka laughed, kissing him with pleasure this time before sitting back down. "Now let's eat before this gets cold and then get to work. Ranches don't run themselves."

Harper, not sure whether to be worried or thankful, awkwardly picked up his spoon and did as he was told.


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: ** I am so glad that some of you are enjoying this story. I'm having a blast writing it and trying to make everything fit both the show and the time period. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.

Now, I'm not normally one to do this, but I see that many more people are reading this than are actually responding. I'd love to here what you think, even if you aren't enjoying it. Constructive criticism makes you a better writer. So, please, if you have time, let me know what you think. Thanks!

**Chapter 7**

In a cloud of dust the Slipstream Stagecoach rolled into Andromeda, scattering citizens to the safety of the boardwalks and drawing various heads out of windows and doorways, curious to see who was coming into town. The driver urged the team to a stop and pushed the brake forward, locking the wheels, before he climbed down and opened the coach door.

Two bedraggled businessmen stepped out, gathered their bags, and headed straight for the saloon. A grey-haired woman emerged next and was promptly swallowed in a herd of hugging children screaming "Grandma! Grandma!"

Finally, a young woman climbed out, alone. No one was waiting to meet her, but she didn't seem alarmed. She calmly gathered her bags and moved to the boardwalk to survey the town.

As she looked around, others studied her. She was clothed neatly in a dress that, while plain and sensible, reflected the latest styles. Her dark brown, almost black hair was swept up off her neck in a neat twist that only added to her beauty with it's simplicity and her olive complexion gave her an almost exotic appearance.

The stage pulled away in another billow of dust and she was left still standing on the boardwalk, the townspeople throwing her curious glances as they went about their business. She seemed to simply be appraising the town, scanning it thoroughly before making her next move.

After a few moments she was apparently satisfied with what she saw. Picking up her bags, she started in the direction of the solitary hotel when a sign in the window of the Marshal's office drew her attention. She stepped closer to read it.

**Deputy needed. Apply within. Ask for Marshal Dylan Hunt.**

"_Marshal_ Hunt?" she laughed in a clear voice, her eyes sparkling. "So _Marshal_ Hunt needs a deputy, does he? Hmmm…."

Eyes still sparkling and expression lost in thought, she resumed her walk to the hotel.

"Excuse me, Ma'am. You seem a little lost. Would you like some help?"

The voice startled her out of her thoughts and she turned to see a young cowboy grinning cheekily at her, hat in hand.

"First of all," she told him firmly, "I am not a _ma'am_. Secondly, I'm not at all lost. And thirdly, I'm perfectly capable of helping myself, thank you just the same."

That said she walked off and entered the hotel lobby, leaving the young man standing with his mouth hanging open.

OOOOO

"You gonna eat that?"

Dylan looked up at his deputy and friend and raised his eyebrows.

"Hungry?"

Rhade shrugged. "It's Wednesday. Widow Wilkins cooks on Wednesday and everyone knows she makes the best apple cobbler for a hundred miles. If you're not gonna eat it, it's only in my best interest to eat it myself."

Dylan gave a small laugh and slid his untouched desert plate across the desk. The two were sitting in the marshal's office eating the evening meal the hotel was kind enough to send over each night, the kerosene lamp casting weird shadows around the otherwise empty room and cells.

Rhade tucked into the treat for several minutes before he happened to glance back at his friend and notice he hadn't moved in all that time.

"What's bothering you tonight? It's not like you to turn down good food."

"Nothing really, just thinking."

"Anasazi?"

"Yeah. I can't figure it out; he's not normally this patient. But he's been around for several days and all he does is sit in the saloon, watching the poker games, or ride off all day looking for something. What's he after? He's up to something; I know he is. I just can't figure it out yet."

"You want me to follow him?"

Dylan considered it for a moment, but shook his head. "No, I need you here more. Until we get another deputy to help take the load, I can't have you riding off on wild goose chases when there could be very real trouble here in town any minute. But I am starting to wonder if I shouldn't ride out and warn the settlers out there, tell them to keep their eyes open."

"Ah, and now we get to the heart of it…" Rhade drawled, pushing his plate away and leaning his elbows on the table.

Dylan eyed him with a frown. "What are you talking about?"

"That Beka Valentine. She has a ranch out that way, doesn't she? Would be a nice excuse to ride out and get to chat with her…"

"Mac, that is not the reason I said that!"

"Oh, don't play innocent with me, Dylan. I've known you your whole life. I've seen you go through puppy love, teenage adoration, Sara... I know when you've got a lady on the mind, and you've had your eye on Miss Valentine for quite a bit now," Rhade finished smugly.

"What! Rhade, I think you've been drinking on the job! Where else would you be getting this utter nonsense?"

"Fine, don't believe me. But I'm right, and you'll see it eventually, mark my words." He stood up from the desk and picked up his hat to go make the rounds of the town for the night, but he paused before he got to the door and turned back to his friend. "Dylan, it's been three years since Sara. It's time to let go. She was my friend too, remember? I know what she would say; she would want you to be happy."

Dylan sighed, but said nothing and Rhade turned back to the door to step out into the night.

He never made it; someone was blocking his path.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Can…can I help you…um…ma'am?" Rhade stammered, slightly distracted by the sight before him. The person standing in the doorway was dressed in men's clothing, but she was most definitely a woman, as her figure showed. She was petite, with dark brown hair swept up beneath a dusty, felt hat that also kept her face in shadows.

Rhade realized his mouth was hanging open and shut it quickly.

"Yes, in fact, you can help me," the mysterious woman said. "I'm looking for a Marshal Dylan Hunt…"

"I'm Marshal Hunt," Dylan said from behind him. "What can I do for you, Ma'am?" he asked, getting up and coming around his desk to stand by Rhade.

"Actually, it's what can I do for you," she replied, stepping into the office and revealing the pistol strapped to her thigh.

"Pardon?" Dylan stammered, his face wrinkled in confusion.

The woman pointed to the sign in the window advertising the position of Deputy Marshal. "It says here you boys are looking for some extra help. I'd like to apply."

For a moment, neither Dylan nor Rhade could say a word. Finally, Rhade spoke.

"Now look here, Ma'am. This is a dangerous job! It's no place for a lady like yourself."

The woman's dark eyes flashed rather dangerously. "Is that so?"

Dylan stepped between the two, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "What my friend is trying to say is that it really wouldn't be good for you to be putting yourself in such a dangerous position. Sometimes, we get ourselves in some pretty crazy messes here; we need someone we know can back us up or bail us out."

"I see," she said shortly, but she didn't move. Instead, she crossed her arms and appeared to grow roots. "And you assume, both of you, that just because I am a woman I'm not capable of facing danger or, as you say, bailing you out?"

This question sounded suspiciously like a trap and Dylan decided he'd better think about it before replying. But, she didn't wait for him.

"Shame on you! Both of you should know better! But apparently, you've forgotten. I supposed I'll have to jog your memories."

Quick as a cat, she sprang. Purely on instinct, both men drew their guns, but she shot them from their hands before they could even decide what to do with them. Three seconds later and Dylan was flat on his back, the woman sitting on his chest. Her hat had fallen off and her long hair framed her face as she grinned triumphantly.

_Wait a minute…_ Dylan knew that grin…

"_Rommie_?" he asked incredulously as Rhade sat up from the floor next to him, nursing his jaw.

The woman's grin grew even bigger and she laughed.

"Rommie is it really you?" Dylan asked again.

"Who else could knock you down in five seconds flat?" she replied, getting off and picking up her hat. She reached a hand down to help Rhade up who was staring at her in open shock.

"What are you doing here?" the deputy asked. "And did you have to punch me so hard?"

"Just doing what you taught me, Mac. Besides, you deserved it after that _this job is no place for a lady_ crap."

Dylan stood up, grinning like an idiot, and pulled his cousin into a huge hug. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back, giving her a good, long look. The last time he'd seen her she'd been a lanky, fourteen year-old tomboy dressed in dungarees and following him and Mac through heck and high water. She'd had more than a passing, girlish crush on her handsome older cousin that sometimes drove him nuts, but as she turned out to be a better shot than either of them and more than capable of holding her own in a fight, the two friends had always let her tag along. In fact, the three of them used to be virtually inseparable. Then, he had turned twenty and split for the army, dragging Mac along. Over the years, they'd both lost touch with Rommie.

Now, sixteen years later, here she was right in front of them. And she was no little girl anymore. She might still be dressed as a tomboy, but the clothes couldn't hide the beauty of the woman she'd become. Dylan smiled with a sort of big-brotherly pride. Rhade smiled too, but his smile was less brotherly and more awe-struck.

"So, do I get the job?" she asked with a cheeky grin.

"Rommie, you're my cousin! I can't let you do that; it's too dangerous."

"I'm a big girl now, Dylan. I can take care of myself."

Dylan opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Rhade.

"Better let her have it, Dylan," his eyes suddenly flashed with mischief.

"What!" Dylan sputtered, whirling on his friend. "Why?"

"A. because you and I both know she's the best we'll find. B. because it's the right thing to do. And C. because if we don't she'll tell the whole town how we were both taken down by one girl. Now, I don't know about you, but I'd like to keep a shred of dignity."

Dylan stared at him then sighed in defeat. "Traitor," he muttered under his breath and Rhade grinned even more. "You two always did gang up on me, which I still don't think is fair by the way, but," he said turning back to face his cousin, "you've got the job – "

"Thank you, Dylan – "

" – on one condition."

"What?"

"If I ever tell you to get out, I mean really get out and get lost fast, you'll listen to me and do it, no questions asked."

"I promise I won't do anything stupid, Dylan. I've grown up too, remember?"

Satisfied by her answer, he smiled gently. "Yes, we can see that you have. Which brings us back to the original question; what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you guys," she answered truthfully. She pulled a chair over and turned it around, straddling it in a most unladylike fashion. Rhade and Dylan found their own chairs.

"It's kind of a long story, but I guess you'll want to hear it."

Both men nodded, encouraging her to go on.

"Pa died when I was twenty. His heart finally gave out, as it had been threatening for years. He didn't even make it home; they buried him at sea. His partner, Mr. Richards, took over the whole shipping business with the promise to make sure Mother, Maggie, and I were always cared for. To his credit, as long as he was alive, he kept that promise."

She paused for just a moment then continued on in a determined voice.

"Mother had never been well; you know that. Living in this country just never agreed with her and she was always a semi-invalid. When Pa died, she just lost it. She retreated inside her mind completely and shut out the real world. Maggie and I looked after her the best we could at home. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if we had to have her committed somewhere, and I know Pa would never have done that. Mr. Richards made sure we had enough to hire some extra help, but mostly it was left to us.

"Maggie couldn't stand that, always being tied down to one place and one person. She started getting restless. She wanted her own life, not to be stuck caring for a mother who often didn't even recognize her or know she was there. Honestly, I think she may have inherited some of Mother's mental instability. One day, she just snapped. She'd met this ship's captain in town and one morning I woke up to find she had just run off with him. That was about four years ago, and I haven't heard from her since."

"I'm so sorry," Dylan said, gently placing his hand over hers. "That must have been very difficult on you."

"Well, what could I do? I couldn't just leave Mother, or turn her care over to others? So I stayed at the house, just me and her. Sometimes I thought I would go out of my mind with boredom. Then Gabriel started coming to call."

"Gabriel?" Rhade asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, surely you remember him. Gabriel Richards. Mr. Richards' son? You probably remember him as a long-legged kid who kept tripping over his own feet…"

"Oh yeah, I remember him," Dylan said with a smile. "I think I locked him in a barn with a skunk once, but that's beside the point. Go on."

"At first, it was wonderful. Mother was getting sicker and the doctors said she didn't have much time left. I was so tired and worn-out and lonely I thought I would go mad as well. Then Gabriel showed up and suddenly I had someone to talk to; someone who cared what I had to say and seemed to understand exactly how I felt. Our friendship grew until one day, about a year later, he asked me to marry him. I said yes."

"I'm sensing there's more to this story," Dylan said quietly.

Rommie sighed. "First it was the little things. He started trying to change me. As his wife, I was going to be a very public figure. I needed to be more ladylike. I should not go out in public in anything less than the latest style… I should never straddle the horse as I rode… Don't let on that my father had taken his daughter all around the world before she was ten years-old and consequently taught her to defend herself on a ship full of unruly men… It just wasn't polite to tell people these things, he said.

"I believed him at first. I was vulnerable and rather desperate and I was hopelessly in love. I was going to marry him and it would be my duty to help uphold his good name. Besides, I like to be pretty and stylish as much as the next girl and his gifts were always so beautiful. But soon, it wasn't just little things. He started telling me where I could and couldn't go, who I could see. It made me wake up a bit. Then Mr. Richards died and Gabriel inherited his father's half of the company. Maggie and I were supposed to inherit Pa's shares and _The Andromeda Ascendant_. Gabriel swore it was all there; he'd found a captain for the ship and put the money in a trust fund for us and was simply managing it to save us the stress. I believed him. I didn't have time to worry about it right then; Mother was dying.

"She passed away peacefully in her sleep about a year ago and I buried her next to Pa. Maggie didn't even come home for the funeral; not that I knew where to find her to tell her. After that, things started to unravel. Without the stress of caring for Mother clouding my judgment, I started to get suspicious. I asked a friend to look into things for me and found out Gabriel had been lying to me all along. He'd been stealing our money, using it to fund illegal business ventures, and tying it all up so expertly that there was no legal way for me to fight back since, as his fiancée, it was technically his anyway. _The Andromeda_ was the only thing he hadn't been able to legally get his hands on, so instead he'd let her fall into ruin."

She gave a short, mirthless laugh.

"Funny, isn't it. My father named me after his ship, not the other way around. I have no question that he loved me every bit as much as he did that ship, but sometimes, growing up, I couldn't help but be jealous of it. Me, jealous of a ship, a hunk of wood and sails. And in the end, that's all he had left of his life. His precious, rotting ship and the girl he named after it."

She shook her head to clear it and then kept talking, her words rushed, as though she just wished to hurry and be done now.

"I confronted Gabriel. He denied everything, so I broke off the engagement. Then he got mad. Threatened to take everything from me. I told him he could have it. Then I went straight into town. I sold _The Andromeda_ to the friend that had helped me and asked him to sell the house as well, getting whatever he could for it. Then I packed up what I wanted and headed west, looking for you guys. And, here I am."

"How on earth did you find us?" Dylan asked.

"Oh, it wasn't that hard," she said with a smile. "I figured my adventurous cousin and his friend would end up on the frontier at some point. It's all you guys ever used to talk about. So, I took the train as far as St. Joe, and then I just started asking around. When I found out there was a town called 'Andromeda' in Wyoming Territory, I just laughed and bought a one-way stage ticket. Who else would be crazy enough to call their town such a ludicrous name?"

Dylan and Rhade both laughed as well.

"Actually, that was Rhade's fault. About two years ago, this town was just starting to get big enough to be worthy of being called a town. We all decided to hold a naming contest. Everyone put their idea for a name into a hat and Brother Behemial drew one out. Rhade's name was the lucky winner." Dylan rolled his eyes.

"Hey, it's a famous name from Greek mythology!" Rhade said, holding up his hands in his defense.

They all laughed again and it felt really good, like old times. Dylan didn't miss when Rommie's laugh turned into a yawn, however, and he noticed that the lamp was burning brightly in the very dark room.

"You've got to be tired after such a long day. Where are you staying?" he asked, standing up and walking to his desk.

"At the hotel for now, I'll work on finding a new place later."

"Tomorrow we'll both help you. I'd offer to let you live here with Rhade and me, but the back room is barely big enough for two bachelor's like us. You, with your neatness streak, would go nuts in minutes."

"Oh, I don't even want to see it!" she said.

"I figured as much. Come on, Rhade and I will walk you to the hotel, and NOT to keep you safe, just as friends. But first, I have something for you." He reached into his desk and pulled out a shiny deputy's star, which he handed to her.

"Congratulations. You, Miss Rommie Avatar, are officially a Deputy Marshal. You start tomorrow."


	10. Chapter 9

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I messed up. Yes, I made a boo-boo. I have fixed it in my original copy, but needed to tell you, because I don't have the time to go back and redo old posts. Dylan and Rhade ran off for the army in '44 not '35. And Harper is SEVENTEEN, not eighteen. So sorry for the mix-up!

**Chapter 9**

Morning light bathed the prairie in a soft, hushed glow and a slight breeze rustled the bushes. In the distance, the man and the woman finished their morning chores and entered the house. The boy followed a few minutes after, trying to hide the limp from the blow the man had given him when the woman's back was turned.

Minutes passed, gathered, and turned into an hour. Still, the man didn't move or leave his hidden vantage point. He just continued to gaze patiently at the quite ranch.

Tyr could be terribly patient when he needed to.

The sun climbed higher in the sky before someone emerged from the house again. It was the boy. He entered the barn, came out some time later with the horses and hitched them to the wagon.

Tyr watched for a moment, but soon lost interest. He was not here to observe the boy. He was only hired to watch and follow the man. The others were of no concern. Although he wondered if the woman had any idea what her man was doing. From what he'd seen in the last week as he studied them off and on, she appeared to be a strong woman. It was a shame she was being set up to fall. And a shame that her obvious love for the man clouded her ability to see who he really was. The boy could probably fill her in, if she would listen. But, from what he'd observed, he doubted the boy would ever tell her.

The large man shifted slightly and leaned back against the tree, brushing an annoying insect away from his face. It was obvious someone was preparing for a trip into town. Most likely the woman, probably taking the child with her. Perhaps he should head back as well. He wasn't likely to learn anything important today.

Just as he was rising to retrieve his horse, the backdoor of the ranch house opened and the man headed for the barn.

Or, perhaps today would be worth his time after all.

Ten minutes later the man emerged from the barn and headed northeast on his horse, moving at a leisurely pace. With a cold smile, Tyr mounted his own horse, a big chestnut gelding, and followed.

"Come on, Kodiak," he spoke to it, patting it fondly. "Let's go hunting."

00000

Harper sat on the front steps waiting for Beka. The sun was warm on his face and shoulders; it felt good and he stretched his legs out, wriggling his dirty toes as a small smile turned up the corners of his lips. He spread his arms out wide, relishing the freedom of movement and the smile grew into a grin. Planting his hands behind him, he leaned back on his arms, ignoring the painful pull of the skin across his back and closed his eyes, giving a content sigh. Here it was, the middle of the morning, and he was sitting down enjoying the sunshine, his stomach comfortably full and his head clear instead of fuzzy from lack of sleep. Life was good.

"Hey, Shorty, you ready to go?"

Harper stood up quickly at her voice and turned around. His jaw dropped in shock. Beka was closing the front door behind her but the woman standing before him looked nothing like the boss he'd been working for the past week. The dusty, worn trousers and canvas shirt had been replaced by a long, cotton dress of deep red. It wasn't fancy, in fact, most other women would consider it very plain, but Harper thought she looked beautiful in it with the sun glinting off the small sliver clip holding back her short hair. She even carried a basket on her arm.

"What are you staring at, Kiddo?" she asked with a grin from the top of the stairs, her hands on her hips.

"You…you," he stammered, tucking one bare foot behind the other nervously. "You look real pretty, Boss," he finished quietly, not meeting her eyes.

"Why thank you, Harper," Beka replied, surprised by the sincerity of the comment. "Out here at the Maru I can get away with wearing whatever I want. However, I try to look a little more respectable in town, especially if I have to do business. Every little bit of respect helps." She looked at the waiting horses and gave him a pleased smile. "I see you got the wagon ready," she said, descending the stairs and walking to the hitching post. Harper followed behind her.

"Yep. I've done that hundreds of times and Bob and Jenny are nice. They kinda remind me of…" His voice trailed off and Beka watched a dark shadow of emotion cross his face.

"Remind you of what?" She asked gently, unsure if he would answer. It took him a moment, but he finally spoke.

"Of their horses, Henrik and Anya," he answered softly, staring at the ground. "I was the one who took care of them and got 'em ready and stuff. They were really big but they never scared me. We just kinda understood each other, ya know?"

"Yes, I do know. I've watched you, Harper. You're very good with the animals; almost as good as you are at fixing things," she complimented him purposefully, trying to lift his mood. It worked.

"Thanks, Boss!" he grinned. "Like I've told you, trust in the Harper, the Harper is good."

"Well, don't let it go to your head," she laughed, setting her basket on the wagon seat. "And speaking of heads, you really should comb that hair before we go. It looks deranged!"

Harper looked aghast and stepped back out of reach to protect his spiky locks. "Hey! It's not deranged, it's unique!"

"Oh yeah? Well what have you got in it to make it stand up like that?"

"No clue," he shrugged. "The monk gave it to me. Said it was better for me than the axel grease I was using. Don't ya think it makes me look older?" he smiled proudly.

"No, it makes you look like a hooligan, especially with that black eye. I still can't believe you managed to trip and hit it on the doorknob." She shook her head in disbelief.

Harper frowned. This was coming too close to subjects he'd rather not talk about. She'd believed his story the first time, but he didn't know how well it would hold up under scrutiny. Time to change the subject.

"So did I pack it all in right?" he asked, pointing to the wagon bed where baskets of fresh produce and one specially packed basket of fresh eggs sat, ready to be traded at the store in Andromeda.

"You put the straw in around the eggs all the way to the bottom, right?"

"Yep."

"Looks good then. Let's go, we're wasting daylight."

She climbed easily onto the seat, despite the heavy skirts, and gathered up the reigns. Harper, however, stayed where he was, shifting from one grubby foot to the other, suddenly nervous again.

_Welcome to life with my new hired-hand_, she thought with a sigh. _Every day a new adventure in the "Land of Instant Mood Swings."_

"What is it, Harper?" she asked, trying not to show impatience since she knew he couldn't help it.

"I'm not supposed to sit up front; I'm supposed to walk behind. Do you want me to walk behind?"

"Harper, this seat was made for more than one person and I don't intend to yell over my shoulder the whole trip in order to have a conversation so get up here and let's get going."

Satisfied, he climbed up and sat next to her. Once she was certain he wouldn't fall off, she flicked the horses forward. After a moment, she realized her young hired-hand was grinning like an idiot.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Well, it's not everyday I get to sit up front by a beautiful lady." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Folks might think we're courtin'."

"In your dreams, Seamus."

"Well, you can't blame a guy for trying."

"Already taken, remember?" she told him.

"You could do a lot better," the kid muttered under his breath.

"What?" she asked, not quite sure she'd heard him right. It was a rather bold statement coming from him.

"Nothing."

"Harper, my relationship with Bobby is none of your business. I'm not really interested in your opinions on the matter, okay?"

He didn't answer, just nodded glumly and looked away.

The horses trotted leisurely, sure of the road, so Beka took the opportunity to study the young man while he was quiet. After a week of her stuffing three good meals a day in him, his face had begun to fill out and he'd lost the deathly pale pallor to his skin. He was still painfully thin, but he no longer looked ready to blow over at the slightest breeze. His thin wrists and ankles were heavily ringed by ugly scars, but they had healed and the bandages were gone. Rev's herbal tea had also cleared his lungs out and the horrible, hacking cough was gone as well. He claimed everything else was better too, but she wasn't blind. She knew he was still hurting when he moved no matter how well he thought he hid it. It didn't help that he kept tripping over things or walking into walls and adding new bruises. But, if she could just get him to sleep like a normal human, maybe his clumsiness would go too. On the whole, he was looking much better, despite the "unique" hair. He was still wearing his rags, but Beka intended to do something about that in the next few hours.

While Beka studied him, Harper was lost in his own thoughts. He could still hardly believe his luck. Even considering the few times Bobby had taken exception to his existence and cornered him in the barn when Beka wasn't around, this had still been the best week he'd had in at least ten years. He was excited and a little bit nervous that Beka was taking him to town with her. His cynical, survivalist side whispered she might be making good on her threat to dump him in the Marshal's cell, but he quickly dismissed that idea. She'd trusted him, despite everything she'd wormed out of him, so he would trust her back even though that was hard for him.

He was really more excited than scared. It had been a long time since he saw a town and got to freely mingle with other people; a _long_ time. This was gonna be fun.

"What's in the basket, Boss?" he asked, tired of the silence.

Beka pealed back the covering cloth and sunlight glinted off cold steel.

"Oh," he said warily, glancing at her. Maybe she didn't trust him as much as he thought.

"Among other things," she said, then she saw his face and rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Kiddo, it's not for you. It's just not a good idea to go anywhere around here unarmed, and it's kinda hard to strap a pistol on in a dress."

"Okay."

"We'll be there in just a bit. Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, Boss. What ya need?"

"Get in my basket and pull out the piece of paper. It's my shopping list."

Harper rummaged around for a moment, carefully avoiding the gun, until he found a small, rectangle of paper.

"Got it. Here ya go."

"Great, now read it to me, so I can make sure I haven't forgotten anything."

Harper stared at the paper in his hand, noticed the little squiggles on it that were supposed to mean something, glanced at Beka waiting patiently, then panicked. Should he make something up? Hope he got it right? His new boss might get mad at him if he did it wrong, though. But then, she might get even madder if she knew her knew crew member couldn't read.

"Um…flour?" he guessed, racking his brain for something she might have mentioned being out of.

"Yes, but why don't you start at the top?"

Harper glanced at her in fear. He was cornered. He couldn't help the frightened expression that settled on his face because he knew what happened when you didn't do things the way you were asked.

"Harper?" she asked, looking over at him. She was surprised to find he appeared ready to bolt, cringing in the seat as if expecting a blow or at least a lecture.

"What?"

"I…um…" He twisted the paper between his dirty fingers, unintentionally smearing the writing. "I…"

It dawned on her. "You can't read, can you?"

Blushing with shame, he ducked his head and shook it.

_Right_, she thought. _Of course he can't read! Who in his pathetic life would have cared enough to teach him to read when they didn't care enough to feed him, clothe him, or keep him healthy?_ This was certainly something she hadn't thought of, however. If he was going to be living at her ranch she could hardly justify keeping him ignorant, but then she was no teacher either. This would take a little thought…

She glanced back at the boy again and realized that while she'd been lost in thought he was still cringing, waiting for her to punish him.

"It's okay, Harper. I'm not mad because you can't read. A little sad that no one ever took the time to teach you, but not angry. We'll just have to work on that later, alright? Maybe Rev Bem can help us."

Relieved, Harper relaxed once more. "Really? You mean you'd actually take the time to teach me how?" he asked incredulously. "When you're so busy and I'm only a dumb hired-hand?"

"Harper, you are not dumb. Just because you can't read doesn't make you dumb. In fact, from watching you fix things, I'd say you're actually very smart. And as for teaching you, it might have to wait until winter when we aren't so busy, but yeah, we'll work on it."

She smiled at him and Harper grinned like she'd just given him a hundred dollars. "Thanks, Beka!" he said excitedly, calling her by her name for the first time.

"You're welcome, Shorty." At least he was easily pleased.

00000

Harper sat stiffly on the straight-backed chair in the bank lobby, staring at the floor. Beka had told him firmly to "wait here" and then disappeared into the back rooms to talk with the banker. Now, the young man felt decidedly out of place. The teller kept glaring suspiciously at him and the patrons of the bank shot him and his ragged clothes disapproving and disgusted looks. Tucking his dirty, bare feet as far out of sight as he could, Harper self-consciously tried to blend into the wall and prayed Beka would come back soon. He was pretty sure if he stayed here much longer, someone was gonna accuse him of something simply because he was there.

"Hello."

Harper looked up quickly to find a girl standing right in front of him. Surprised, he noticed three things right away. First, she appeared to be talking to him. Second, she was wearing a dress of shockingly, bright purple, and third, she was very pretty.

"Are you talking to me?" he asked in confusion.

"Of course I'm talking to you, silly. Who else would I be talking to? Do you see anyone else sitting here that I could be talking to?" she spoke with a smile, putting her hands on her hips.

"N…o…" Harper stammered, still somewhat shocked and unable to take his eyes off her. There was something almost magical about her, the way her pale, white skin sparkled and her lovely, brown eyes danced with laughter. She had long, red hair that hung down her back in a loose braid, a purple bow tied at the end. He guessed she was about two years younger than him, but she was probably a little taller, years of hard labor and malnutrition having stunted his own growth.

"Well then it stands to reason I must be talking to you, now doesn't it?" she continued completely unaware of his scrutiny.

"Um, I guess…"

"Good, now that that's settled," she pulled a second chair over next to his and sat down. "Who are you? And what are you doing just sitting here?"

Harper blinked at the rapid questions. This girl was confusing!

"I'm Harper," he finally said. "And I'm waiting for my boss. She's in the back room."

"Harper. That's a nice name. It's nice to meet you, Harper. And I'm glad that you're waiting for your boss, that means she'll probably be awhile so we can sit and talk for a bit. I don't get to talk to many people and it's kinda nice to talk to someone my own age for a change. I mean, at least I think you're my age. I'm just guessing of course. How old are you anyway?"

"Seventeen," Harper answered, too desperately trying to keep up with her prattling conversation to lie.

"That's what I thought. I'm fifteen and I guessed you were only a little older than me. So that's great! I mean that means we can be friends, right? Cause I'd very much like us to be friends."

She waited for him to answer and he waited for his head to stop reeling. She was the strangest person he had ever met, but then she was also the nicest. And she wanted to be his friend even though he was nothing more than a street kid and still barefoot and in rags. Sure, why not?It might be nice to have a friend. He'd never had one before, except for Brendan and he didn't really count because he was family. But, there was still one little problem…

"Who are you?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Silly me."

She stuck her hand out solemnly. "I'm Trance Gemini and I'm very pleased to meet you."


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"What exactly are you saying?"

Beka glared at the banker, barely containing her rage. She'd never liked the weasely little man. He had an arrogant way about him that she detested. He'd always made it perfectly clear he was stooping to do business with a woman, and he dangled her father's debts over her head with calculated glee. She did business with him because she had no choice, but she refused to respect him.

"I'm saying, my dear Miss Valentine, that you are running out of time," Gerentex smiled like a predator. "The discovery of this outstanding mortgage in your records changes everything. The debts must be paid in full by the end of October or the ranch reverts to bank property in payment."

"By the end of October? But that's barely two months away! You know it'll take a miracle to get that kind of money off the cattle this year, even with a good harvest thrown in!"

"I'm terribly sorry, but there's nothing I can do."

"No, you're not sorry at all," Beka spat, rising angrily to her feet. "Well alright, you'll get your blasted money, every last penny of it! And then you can forever keep your grimy, money-grubbing paws off my land!"

The books in the shelves rattled when the door slammed. Gerentex simply smiled. This was working out exactly according to plans, at least his plan. Bobby had mortgaged the Maru to pay off his gambling debt to the bank, and he was running guns and goods for Sam Profit to pay off said mortgage. Once his usefulness was over, however, Sam was setting Bobby up to fall hard, and in return Gerentex was going to make sure Sam Profit fell with him, leaving everything to him. But Beka didn't know any of that and there was no reason why he shouldn't squeeze as much money from her in the meantime as he could.

It was a win-win situation. At least for him.

00000

"_I'm Trance Gemini and I'm very pleased to meet you." _

"Well, actually, it's Transcendence Harmony Gemini, but that's such a mouthful I just let everyone call me Trance."

"Um, okay," Harper replied, not exactly sure how to do this friend thing, especially with such an odd girl. "What are _you_ doing here?" he asked since she had asked him first.

"Oh, I live here. Upstairs. See my Uncle Gerentex… Well, he's not really my uncle. He's actually just my legal guardian but it's much easier to just call him uncle. Anyway, he owns the bank."

"Where's your family?" He didn't know why he asked it, he hated talking about his own past, but it just kinda slipped out.

Her pretty face darkened and her smile faltered. "I wonder how long your boss will be?" she avoided his question and Harper let it drop.

From the back of the room, Beka watched the two young people for quite awhile with a heavy heart. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but she was happy to see someone accepting her young helper. She was glad he was making friends, but she was also very worried. Over the last week, despite all her best efforts to remain hard-hearted and aloof, she'd come to care deeply for the wounded boy. It was almost like having a little brother around, and it felt right somehow. She'd offered him a home and a refuge from the world that had been so cruel to him. How could she tell him that in two months it might all be yanked away again? That just as he was starting to fit in and feel safe, it might all disappear? It made her sick inside. She wanted to smash something, preferably Gerentex's face, to think that now she couldn't even afford the new shirt and shoes she wanted to buy him and he so desperately needed.

At that moment, Harper looked up and noticed her standing there. He smiled brightly and she made up her mind not to tell him about her financial troubles, not yet at least. He had enough problems of his own; he didn't need to carry hers as well. She pasted on a smile she hoped looked real and walked over.

"Hiya, Boss," he said happily, and a little guiltily, as he stood up to greet her. "This is my new friend Trance."

He said _friend _like he couldn't quite believe it, and Beka studied the girl for any hidden cruelty. She couldn't find anything but kindness reflected in her brown eyes, however, so she relaxed.

"Nice to meet you, Trance. I'm Beka Valentine, but you can call me Beka. Have you been in Andromeda long? I've never seen you before?" _And in a purple dress like that I would have remembered_, Beka thought.

"Nice to meet you too, Beka," Trance said, her voice almost bubbly. "And I've been here about a month, but I haven't really met many people yet."

"I…uh…" Harper stammered for a moment, then worked up his courage and spit it out. "I invited her to come out to the ranch and visit sometime. Is that okay with you, Boss?"

Beka laughed. The way he said it, it sounded more like _"Boss, it just kinda followed me home, and I've already touched it so the mother won't take it back…"_

"Sure, Shorty," she answered, glad the boy could make her laugh even in the midst of her crisis. "Your new friend can come out and visit sometime, just as long as you don't leave me to muck out all the stalls. But right now you gotta come help me with the torture that is shopping."

"Oh, that's alright. I need to go down to Miss Molly's Millinery anyway. She's helping me with the fitting on my new dress." Trance smiled at both of them then turned to Harper. "Thanks for talking with me. It was fun! See you around!"

She bounced off and disappeared up the stairs at the back of the bank.

Harper looked a little dazed. "Wow…" he shook his head.

"Interesting friend you made there, Kiddo," Beka said.

"Tell me about it. Now can we get out of here? The guy over there behind the desk that's taking all the money looks like he wants to arrest me for just being here." Harper sounded genuinely worried and Beka noticed he kept his left hand tight in a fist, hiding the incriminating tattoo.

"Yeah, come on," she nodded, ushering him out the door. Neither of them noticed the two young men who had been watching Harper and Trance converse from the corner, angry, jealous expressions on their faces.

They made their way back to the wagon and gathered up the baskets from the back. Between the two of them, they managed to carry them over to a newer building with large windows. A sign hung above the doorway proclaiming it the General Mercantile. They brought the baskets inside and set them in front of the counter.

The shopkeeper, Mr. Pish, was busy with a line of several customers so Beka told Harper he could look around as long as he was careful.

Harper moved slowly around the store, his eyes wide with fascination. The store was not that big, just a typical frontier shop with the necessities of life and a few luxuries for those who could afford them, but to Harper it was quite amazing. He had never seen so much food in his life. And there were trinkets, and lovely bolts of soft fabric, and books, and beautiful things he didn't even know what they were.

Forgetting Beka was even there, he stopped in front of shelf of men's and boy's shirts, his fingers tracing the clean, crisp fabric lightly. He had often wondered what it would be like to have something new, something that was just for him and just his size, instead of barely held together hand-me-downs that drowned him. After a moment, however, he shook his head to clear it and moved on. He'd learned a long time ago not to have dreams; they never came true anyway.

Waiting next to her baskets of produce, Beka watched Harper as he roamed. She smiled at the look of childish awe on his face. He might be seventeen years-old, nearly an adult, but sometimes his tiny frame and lack of experience in the world just made him seem so young. Until you looked in his eyes, that is. His eyes were ages old.

She watched him softly touch the clothes and her smiled faltered. She didn't miss the look of longing on his face, no matter how quickly it was gone, and she once again cursed Gerentex darkly. Mentally, she did some quick calculations, wondering what on her list they could afford to do without. She decided right then and there, if there was any possible way to pull it off, she was a least going to buy that boy a decent shirt to wear.

"Ah, good day, Miss Valentine." Mr. Pish's words drew Beka's attention toward the counter and she realized the line of people was gone. "What can I do for you?"

Beka motioned for Harper to come up and help her and she started putting her baskets up on the counter.

"I was hoping to do a little business with you," she smiled in a friendly way. She had never had any problems with the shopkeeper, but he sometimes struck her as not a very nice person.

"Certainly. I'm always happy to do business with an upstanding citizen like yourself, and you do grow some of the best produce in the territory." He glanced behind her and noticed Harper for the first time. His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of the ragged boy, and his gaze filled with distrust. "And who's this?" he asked, his voice suddenly colder.

"This is Harper, my new hired-hand."

The shopkeeper looked him up and down once more. "Where'd you find him, on the slave-block?" he whispered to Beka with a conspiratorial grin, making sure his voice was loud enough for Harper to hear. It was amazing how quickly her attitudes had changed. A week ago, she might have laughed with him, but a week ago she didn't know Harper, know the person the clothes and scars hid. Now she didn't find it funny in the least, but for the sake of getting on with business, chose to ignore it.

"Are you interested in the produce or not?" she asked pointedly.

"Yes, sorry. Let's see what we have. Well, I'll give you the usual for the eggs…"

Harper stayed behind Beka while the two adults bartered, rage smoldering in him from the shopkeeper's comment that he'd heard all too well. He knew he looked like a beggar, but that didn't mean he liked always being insulted for it.

"Harper, can you bring me that basket of corn?" Beka called. He nodded sullenly and stepped over to the basket, picking it up. It was heavy, but he was used to that. He would have been fine if one of the handles hadn't chosen that moment to come loose. The basket slipped sideways and corn tumbled everywhere, tripping him.

Harper was already upset from the stupid shopkeeper's comments; this was just too much. His temper flared and he kicked angrily at some of the rolling ears of corn. Long buried instincts spilled out, like they usually did when he was mad or upset, and he cursed without thinking. "Imigh sa diabhal!(1) Dumb, stupid corn!" His slight accent had thickened considerably and he continued to curse under his breath.

Beka fought the instinct to laugh. There was no harm done and it really was quite comical, but she knew Harper wouldn't appreciate her laughing at his plight. She was also amazed, realizing there must be a smattering of his native language still buried deep in the recesses of his mind. She was just about to tell Harper to quit beating on her vegetables and gather them back up when she noticed Mr. Pish advancing on him.

"How dare you come in here!" he bellowed, startling the boy who hadn't seen him coming.

"What?" Harper asked, his accent still thick in his confusion.

"Your kind is not welcome in my store! Now get out!" he pointed harshly at the door and Harper cringed, thinking he was going to strike him.

"What is the problem?" Beka growled, stepping purposefully between them.

Mr. Pish gestured pointedly to a sign she hadn't noticed in the store window. It stated cruelly: _No Indians or Irish allowed._

"I want that dirty, Irish scum out of my store! He may be your hired-hand, Miss Valentine, but I won't have him sullying my reputable business with his filth."

Beka was shocked. She knew many people in America looked down on the Irish, but she had never encountered such open prejudice in Andromeda. She wanted to tell him exactly where he could take his stupid ideas and shove them but there was a small problem. This was the only store in town. If she didn't do business here they wouldn't get the supplies they needed and then they wouldn't eat.

"Mr. Pish! This boy is my worker. He's here to help me, and he has every bit as much – "

"Boss," Harper interrupted, his face sad and resigned all at once. "It's okay. You finish shopping. I'll just go outside and look around." He also knew this was the only store in town and that Beka needed to get those supplies. Besides, he was used to being told to stay out. In his life, the list of places he was not allowed to go had been immeasurably long.

He slipped out of the door before Beka could say anything, the little bell dinging softly in his wake. She turned back to glare at Mr. Pish and leaned down to gather up the corn, barely controlled rage on her face.

"Here, let me help you with that, Miss Valentine," the bigot said with a smile, as if nothing had even happened. Beka ground her teeth, dreading the next hour or so of shopping. She just hoped Harper managed to stay out of trouble.

00000

Harper wandered the dusty streets of the town without purpose, trying to push the man's ugly words from his brain. He might have been verbally abused most of his life, but that didn't mean it hurt any less when it happened again. Still, at least this time someone had tried to stand up for him. Thinking of Beka made him brighten slightly and he wondered if she would make those yummy biscuits for dinner again. Those had been his favorites so far.

Absentmindedly, he kicked as a few pebbles with his toes and turned a corner onto the main road. The town was so small there really wasn't far for him to go – just one main street and two smaller side streets. He passed the Marshal's office, the hotel, the livery stable and was coming up on the lumber yard when his instincts told him he wasn't alone.

He stopped abruptly and turned around. Five boys were following him about ten paces behind, smiling maliciously. They were probably around his own age, but they were all significantly bigger than him, and much better dressed. He knew he was in trouble.

"What do you want?" he asked as they circled him, slipping on his calloused tough-guy act to hide his fear.

"You're new around here, ain't ya?" one of them asked slyly.

"What's it to ya?"

"Well, it's obvious you don't know how things work here yet," another said as they closed in. Harper looked around to see if there was anyone who would come to his aid, but this part of town was fairly deserted right now and no one really cared what happened to one ragged, street kid anyway.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his temper rising as he balled his fists. He knew he wasn't getting out of this without a fight.

"Miss Gemini," the first spoke again. "We saw you talking to her today. You apparently don't know she's way too good for the likes of you. We just thought we'd let you know you'd better stay away from her."

"I don't have to stay away from no one!" Harper spat angrily. Trance was weird, but she was the first friend he'd ever had and he wasn't going to lose that. "She's my friend and I can talk to her if I want, or anyone else for that matter!"

"We disagree," the boy said. He signaled his friends and suddenly Harper was surrounded by pummeling fists and jabbing boots. On top of everything else, it was just too much. Something inside him snapped and he snarled, leaping at the nearest boy and sending them both flying into the dirt. Anger and hurt feed the flames of his rage and he fought like a wildcat, dust and fists flying and his yells mixing with the shouts of the five other boys.

00000

Marshal Dylan Hunt strode purposefully down the streets of his town, enjoying the warm day. For once it had been a fairly calm day and he told Rommie he was going to meet Mac in the restaurant for lunch. He'd invited her as well, but she'd shooed him off, claiming that with him gone she could finally take a broom to the place and make it actually fit for humans to be in. It was probably true, but he also thought she just liked the chance to sit in his chair.

"She wouldn't come?"

Dylan jumped and drew his gun as Rhade spoke unexpectedly from beside him. He relaxed when he saw who it was and re-holstered his gun.

"Argh! Don't sneak up on me like that, Mac! I'm liable to shoot you before I know it's you!"

"No, you won't. I've been doing that to you since we were ten; you haven't shot me yet. So, she wouldn't come?"

"No, she said she'd stay and watch the office. Just asked us to bring her something back. Sorry, Mac, I tried. If you want to have lunch with her, you're just gonna have to ask her yourself and leave me out of it."

"Who said I wanted to have lunch with her?" Rhade glared.

Dylan just rolled his eyes. "Come on, I'm hungry," he said, walking toward the restaurant.

The sound of distant shouting stopped them both, however. It was coming from the direction of the lumber yard. The two men looked quickly at each other, then drawing their guns, raced for the commotion.

"Break it up! Break it up!" Dylan shouted wading right into the middle of the fight and firing his pistol into the air. Most of the boys froze and Rhade started pulling them roughly away from the pile. The dust cleared enough to reveal one boy sitting on the chest of another, punching him over and over, his face twisted in rage. Dylan grabbed him by the back of his ragged shirt and dragged him off, leaving the other boy bleeding dazedly in the street, but thankfully alive.

"What is going on here?" Dylan asked firmly.

"Let me go! Get your hands off me!" the boy in his grip squirmed and shouted, trying to twist enough to take a swing at the marshal.

The other youths were much calmer now that they recognized the deputy and the marshal.

"He was messing with Miss Gemini, making her cry," Adam stepped forward to explain, while Dylan struggled to keep a grip on the frantic young man. "I told him to stop and he wouldn't. Then he stole Timmy's money, so we said he had to give it back. He went nuts."

"That's not true!" the boy screamed, twisting and fighting even harder, his eyes wild and blood streaming from his nose and split lip. "He's lying!"

Dylan was torn. On the one hand, this kid said they were lying, but on the other, these five boys were the sons of some of Andromeda's finest citizens. They had never been in trouble with the law, why should they start now? He'd never seen the boy he was holding before in his life, and he was getting more out of control by the minute. If the boy really had been terrorizing a young girl and stealing money, he had no choice but to detain him in the holding cell. Those were serious matters and frontier law made no exception for youth. With a sigh, he made up his mind and nodded at Rhade.

"Alright, we'll handle it. You can go," the deputy told the others. "Make sure and get Timmy checked out by the doc, okay?"

The five boys hid their grins as they walked, or limped, off, for all the world appearing contrite and obedient.

"Calm down! We just need to take you back to the office and ask you a few questions," Dylan told the struggling boy, but it just made him fight even more. With a sigh, he fished in his pocket for his handcuffs. "Fine, we'll do this the hard way."

While Rhade held the boy, Dylan pulled his hands roughly behind his back. He was shocked to see the heavy rings of scars around the small wrists, not sure he liked what they implied. Then his eyes were drawn to the dark tattoo. He recognized it at once and he clicked the handcuffs on the thin wrists purposefully, but not completely without regret. The kid seemed so young to already be a hardened criminal.

By now the boy was approaching hysterical. He was cursing and spitting words in at least two languages at the two men that would make even a sailor blush. When the handcuffs closed on his wrists, he lost it completely. He kicked Rhade hard in the shins and took off running.

Dylan caught him easily. "Whoa there, young man! You're not going anywhere but my nice, comfy cell. I think you need some time to cool off before we try and straighten this out." Together, Rhade and Dylan dragged the still struggling boy back to the Marshal's office, Rommie looking up in surprise as they entered.

Jerking him over to the two cells, Dylan unlocked the first one and pushed the kid inside with his hands still cuffed behind him. Then he slammed the door shut and locked it again. "When you are calmed down and acting like a civilized person we'll talk," he told him.

As soon as the metal bars closed behind him, much of the fight seemed to drain from the kid, and his face turned deathly pale, even if the anger stayed. He sank down the wall to the floor, pulling his knees up awkwardly with his hands stuck behind him. "I didn't do nothing wrong!" he muttered fiercely, glaring at the three people with shiny silver stars pinned to their clothes who stared at him from outside his cell. "It ain't fair! I didn't do nothing wrong!"

"Just take it easy and calm down, kid. I'll be back later and we'll talk," the marshal said firmly, but not without compassion. "Come on Mac, I'm starving now. Let's go get lunch."

00000

Beka stepped out of the Mercantile with a sigh, her hands and baskets full of purchases. She looked around to see if Harper was waiting to help her load the wagon, but couldn't see him. _Maybe he went back to talk to that Trance girl_, she thought. After all, it had taken her nearly two hours to complete her shopping; an hour longer than she had planned. He probably got bored with waiting and went exploring.

_Or he's hiding_, a voice whispered in her head. Not that she'd blame him; not after the horrible way he'd been treated by that nasty old man. It still made her mad to think about it, and the comments hadn't even been directed at her.

She carefully placed one package in the top of her hand-held basket, covering her pistol, and smiled a little. She knew it wouldn't make up for what was said, and they'd have to make due with plain, old molasses in their coffee instead of sugar, but it didn't matter. She couldn't wait to see his face when she gave it to him and he found the new shirt inside. She hurried off down the street, anxious to find her young friend.

Half and hour later, she was getting seriously worried. She'd passed a group of women who grudgingly acknowledged her, Marshal Hunt who had tipped his hat at her as he left the restaurant, and a group of boys lounging in front of the hotel, looking a little worse for the wear, but no Harper. She was beginning to wonder if the boy's raging hormones and curiosity hadn't finally gotten the better of him, and if she needed to go check out Madame Doyle's Emporium. If she found him in there, so help her, she'd…she'd…well, she didn't know what she'd do, but it would be something he'd remember.

"Can I help you, Miss Valentine?"

She glanced down to see one of the young men addressing her. Adam, she finally remembered, the hotel manager's son. She wondered vaguely where he'd gotten his black eye, which in turn made her think of Harper again and the black eye he'd been sporting this morning.

"Yeah, Adam, maybe you can. I'm looking for my new hired-hand. You may have seen him? He's about your age, short, fast talker, too smart for his own good…? He was barefoot, with spiky, blonde hair and blue eyes – well one blue, one rather black right now? You haven't seen him around have you?"

The young man smiled nicely.

"Why yes, ma'am. We saw him about two hours ago. He seemed pretty upset. He took off walking that direction, back toward your ranch I think. At the pace he was going, I suspect he's mostly there by now."

_What the…?_

Beka shook her head in disbelief. _That stubborn little rat!_ She knew he was upset, but that was no reason to take off on his own back to the ranch! Especially not when he knew she'd be looking for him! And it was a long walk back; who knew what could happen to him on the way, and he had no shoes and nothing to defend himself with.

She turned and rushed back to her wagon, cursing his stubborn Irish head the whole way. Now she not only had to worry about her debt and losing her ranch, she had to baby-sit a headstrong kid who had wormed his way into her heart!

Torn between worry and anger, she snapped the horses into a trot and headed for home, rehearsing the speech she would nail him with as soon as she saw him.

Oh life used to be so much simpler!

(1)Imigh sa diabhal! Go to the devil! Or at least that's what the website said. I don't speak Gaelic, so don't yell at me if it's wrong. I tried my best.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Bobby threw the cold dregs of his coffee on the dying fire and slammed the tin cup down as he stood up, his growing impatience sparking his short temper. Three hours he'd been waiting! _Three hours_! Sam Profit had been gone when he first arrived, but he'd ridden in at least an hour ago and yet still Bobby was waiting.

Profit was deliberately toying with him and it made Bobby angry. It's not like he didn't have better things to do then wait around for Sam Profit all day! He was on tenterhooks with Beka as it was, ever since that piece-of-trash brat showed up. He'd really be in the doghouse if Beka got back from town before he'd had a chance to do any of the jobs on her list.

That was another thing that rankled, and Bobby swore under his breath and started to pace. Why did the skinny, little worm get to ride like royalty into Andromeda with Beka while he got left behind with a list of chores? The kid should be doing all that so he didn't have to. The boy was there to work; it's all he was good for, not to go on social outings!

"Hey, Jensen!"

Bobby looked up in the direction the shout came.

"Mr. Profit wants to see ya now."

Bobby growled under his breath, "It's about time!" and stalked to Profit's tent.

"Ah, Bobby, come in, come in," Sam Profit gestured magnanimously with his lit cigar.

Bobby wasn't in the mood to be placated. "What do you want, Profit? I'm getting real tired of playing errand boy for you and not getting anything in return. The bank's breathing down my neck more each day and that last shipment was almost more trouble to bring in that it was worth. I didn't agree to risk my life for you when I signed up."

"Patience, Bobby," Profit said, standing up, but his eyes flashed slightly. "Rome wasn't built in a day, remember. And isn't the cause worthy enough to take a few small risks for?"

"Not when you get nothing in return. You're playing with me and using me and I don't like it. I'm not gonna get myself killed for you! I need that money!"

Anger danced through Sam Profit's eyes, but it died quickly and he sagged as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders alone. "Mr. Jensen, walk with me again."

Bobby resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Profit's classic stall tactic and realized he probably wouldn't be getting to any of those jobs on Beka's list today.

They exited the tent and Profit lead him around the camp. Everywhere there was a bustle of activity. Men inventoried supplies, tended to wagons and stock, cleaned and packed weapons. In the center a small group of runaway slaves sat shackled to posts, waiting to be returned to their masters. The camp practically oozed order and purpose.

"What do you see here, Bobby?" Profit asked, gesturing wide.

"A camp full of men who need to bathe and shave," Bobby grumbled, not seeing the point to this.

"No, Bobby, look closer. It's more than that."

He paused but when Bobby didn't answer, he answered for him. "Do you know what I see? I see hope, Bobby. Hope and courage and people willing to put their lives on the line for justice and freedom. People willing to fight for what's right."

"But –"

"Sh, Bobby, just listen for a minute."

Bobby sighed but nodded.

"I know you got into this for the sole purpose of paying off a few debts, which I can fully understand. And yes, we will get them paid off, but now you're here and you have the chance to be part of something so much bigger, so much more important! Can't you feel it, Bobby! Can't you feel it calling to you? This work isn't easy, and sometimes we have to take risks, but it has to be done! You have to keep the end goal in mind! I think you've just lost sight of that right now."

Bobby found himself listening, despite his foul temper. The more he listened though, the more it really did make sense. His debts weren't due yet, mortgaging the Maru had bought him that time, and the "cause" did pull at him, his Southern roots, his heritage. To be part of something like that… To know he made a difference!

"I thought you understood all this last time we talked, but I guess you were still a little confused. But no matter, I can see in your eyes now that you truly comprehend how important this is. The Northern states want to walk all over our rights. They would squeeze the very lifeblood out of us if they could! We cannot simply stand by and let that happen." He paused and squeezed Bobby's shoulder in a brotherly fashion. "But we have to be patient. It won't happen overnight, and sometimes it will require us to sacrifice things. Our comfort, our safety, but we _will_ prevail and it _will_ be worth it. Now, can I count on you to be with us?"

"Of course, I'm a Southerner, too. For such a worthy cause, of course I'll help. And I'm sorry I lost sight of the goal. It's just a little difficult sometimes with Gerentex and Beka both getting after me."

"Ah yes, and speaking of that lovely young lady you seem to have wrapped around your little finger… Don't you think it's about time you brought her round to the cause as well? She would surely be a valuable asset to us."

"Who, Beka?" Bobby was startled! He knew she was from the North and had strong feelings about slavery.

"Yes, Miss Valentine. I want you to talk to her, try and show her how right our cause is, how many people we are going to help. Will you do that for me?"

Secretly, Bobby was thinking he'd rather walk through fire than try and convince Beka of anything, but he agreed anyway.

"Good. Now, back to business. The next shipment will be ready to pick up in two weeks. It's the largest one yet and vital for the operation, so you will have to take the utmost care with it. Hide it at your place until I call for it and then, once it's delivered, we should have enough to pay you and get that banker off your back. Any questions?"

_Yeah, like where am I supposed to hide several crates of guns and powder so Beka won't find it? _ Bobby felt like asking, but once again kept silent.

OOOOO

Sam Profit, aka Sid Barry walked back to his tent with a smile. That had been a performance worthy of the theater, with just enough emotion and sincerity to make it touching without smothering. Jensen never even knew what hit him.

He laughed to himself as he pushed open the flap, trying to decide which wine he should have with dinner. Then his eyes fell on his desk and he stopped short.

A dagger stood on his desk, the tip buried in the wood, pinning a message to the desk.

It was still quivering.

Sid jerked around, drawing his gun and scanning the tent for an intruder, but it was painfully still and quiet. He was alone, but someone had just been here.

In two steps he was at the desk and ripped the paper from the knife, his eyes scanning as his fury grew.

_They say turnabout is fair play and what comes around, goes around. Well, it's almost your turn; the circle is coming round, the noose is drawing close… _

_**I am watching you**._

A shiver of fear ran up Sid's spine before the anger had a chance to completely consume it. His fist crushed the paper as he stalked back outside.

"Did you see anyone enter my tent!" he growled dangerously at the nearest man, the man who was supposed to be guarding his tent. When the man sat there with his mouth gapping open, not answering, Sid grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him violently.

"Did you see someone go into my tent!" he spat each word.

"No, sir, Mr. Profit!" the poor man stuttered. "No one!"

Sid snarled and threw the man on the ground. _Bunch of worthless fools_! He took several steps away and scanned the camp, then searched the surrounding foliage and hills. Nothing!

With a frustrated growl he clenched his fists and stomped back into his tent, shredding the note into tiny bits.

OOOOO

The leaves shimmered in the August heat and the grass on the hills lay quiet – still as death. Rocks and tree-trunks cast shadows that offered no relief from the sweltering air. Nothing moved, nothing stirred…

Then one of the shadows threw back its head and laughed, a quiet, chilling laugh that spoke of promises long overdue.

OOOOO

When Brother Behemial Far-Traveler arrived at the Eureka Maru no one was there. This didn't bother him in the least, however. He simply pulled out his Bible and made himself at home on the front porch. It wasn't often he got to slow down long enough to enjoy a little sunshine and private meditation. He even drew up the hem of his robes to his knees, letting his sandaled feet bask in the warm rays while no one was around to see or criticize.

It wasn't long before the sunshine was forgotten, however, and he lost himself in his studies and his thoughts. When he finally heard the approaching wagon he was startled to discover that the sun had jumped across the sky. _Had several hours passed already?_

He quickly stood up, covered his feet, and went to greet Beka.

"Good afternoon, Rebekah. I hope you don't mind that I made use of your porch while I waited for you," he said, taking the reigns from her so she could climb down.

"Oh, Rev, that porch is as much yours as it is mine. You know that," Beka said, but her eyes strayed from the monk, scanning the yard, distracted. "Now, where's Harper? I wanna talk to him."

"Harper?" Rev questioned. He hadn't seen the young man. "I haven't seen Master Harper at all today, Beka. I assumed he was with you."

"He _was_ with me, but something happened in town and he took off on his own to walk back. You mean he's not here?" There was a slight edge of panic to Beka's voice now. It was at least five miles to Andromeda. Anything could have happened to the young man between there and the Maru!

"I haven't exactly looked for him, Beka," Rev said, calmly, "and I'll admit I was rather engrossed in my studies. It's possible he sneaked back while I was meditating and is hiding somewhere."

_Of course he would be hiding,_ she realized. He was probably too angry, ashamed, or scared to face her right now. Beka sighed and rubbed her weary face with her hands. She'd had no idea how tiring it would be to be responsible for someone else's welfare. It was only late afternoon but she was ready to climb in bed right now. And once again, Bobby wasn't around to help out. Typical. At least Rev was there. She didn't know what she would do without him. He kept her from falling apart.

"Help me unload the supplies, will ya, Rev? Then I'm gonna need your help to search this place top to bottom until I find that kid, and it would probably be best if you were present when I do because first I'm gonna hug him, and then I'm gonna kill him. He'll need Last Rites."

OOOOO

Three hours later the sun was setting and it was painfully apparent to both Rev and Beka that Harper was not at the ranch. What's more, it was obvious he hadn't been there since they left it that morning. Beka was in full-out panic mode now.

"Rev, where is he? It's getting dark! What if something happened to him? What if he got lost or did something stupid? What if he's laying in the brush somewhere, shot and bleeding to death? It's not like there aren't outlaws around! What if someone got him? Or what if he's been captured by Indians? What if –"

"Beka!" Rev called loudly, putting both his hands on her slender shoulders and forcing her to look at him. She stopped talking and gazed at him with eyes shining from held-back tears. "Rebekah," he said softer, now he had her attention. He smiled a little at the depth of her care for the young man, knowing how much she needed this. This forgotten child was just what his "little girl" needed, something to show her what she could truly become.

"Rebekah, calm down. Telling me all the what-ifs of your vivid imagination will not help us find Master Harper. He is out there and we will find him, but we can't if you aren't thinking clearly."

He waited for her to regain her composure. After several seconds, she let out a deep breath and nodded, her shoulders relaxing.

"Good," Rev said, patting her on the back. "Now, go change your clothes while I saddle us some fresh horses and we will retrace your path and try and find him. He's only a little fellow, remember. He can't have gone too far."

Beka nodded again and climbed the front steps, but she paused at the top and turned back to her long-time friend and confidant. "Rev, he's just a boney, annoying, ragged kid that I hired in a moment of weakness. He wasn't supposed to mean anything to me; he was supposed to be totally disposable! I mean, I've only known him a week! I hardly know anything about him, but he made me laugh, and made me feel needed, and he…" She shook her head in frustration, unable to express her thoughts. "Rev, what if he's left for good? I don't want him to be gone! I don't want to go back to how I was before he came…"

Rev smiled gently. "Well find him, Beka, I promise you." Then he grinned that mischievous grin that seemed so at odds with his monk's robes. "You know, I've spent a great deal of my life talking to God; we have quite a rapport build up. I think it might be time to call in a few outstanding favors, because, quite frankly," he leaned closer and winked at Beka, "He owes me."

Beka grinned despite herself and felt her emotions resettling. Thank the heavens for Rev; he always knew just what to say to ground her.

"Thanks, Rev," she said, sounding like confident, in-control Beka Valentine again. "Just let me change out of this blasted dress and then we'll go find the little scamp and drag him back home, by his ears if we have to."


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Marshal Dylan Hunt pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair tiredly.

"Anything else you need, Mr. Smith?" he asked.

"Naw, Marshal. We're good here now, but I do appreciate your help. Ain't no way would have got that wall put back up without you. Would've taken me and the boys days at the least."

"Not a problem, Mr. Smith," Dylan said, slipping his hat back on. He gave the man a friendly squeeze on the shoulder and ruffled the youngest boy's hair. "That's what I'm here for, to help the people of this town, whether it's by stopping bad guys or putting up barn walls."

"Well, thanks again. We're mighty grateful."

Dylan shook Mr. Smith's hand and then took his leave. It was getting late and he really needed to get back to the office. What he'd thought would be a lazy day had turned into a small rat-race. First a brawl had broken out at the saloon, then someone had ridden into the town shouting that the Sabras and the Jaguars were feuding again. Dylan, wondering who had put up a fence on who's land this time, and not feeling up to facing the two squabbling families today, sent Rhade out to deal with it. The Deputy wasn't back yet which made Dylan even more grateful he hadn't gone himself. Add in Mr. Smith's partially constructed barn losing a wall, and Dylan's day had been quite full.

He strolled through the streets, enjoying the light from the setting sun and listening to the music drift from the saloon just down the way. He passed the lumber yard, quiet and deserted, so different from earlier today when…

_The boy!_ Dylan slapped his head. The poor kid was still waiting in Dylan's cell for the Marshal to come back and talk with him. He'd been so busy he was ashamed to admit he'd forgotten all about the kid. Well, at least maybe now the young man would be calmer instead of raving mad.

The scents of beef stew, warm bread, and fresh blackberry pie caught his nose as he passed the restaurant and he stopped. The kid was probably pretty hungry by now; the least he could do was bring him some food.

Ten minutes later he entered the Marshal's office with a covered plate in his hand. He set the plate on the desk and hung up his hat, scanning the cell but seeing no kid.

"Rommie?" he called in confusion.

She emerged from the backroom, the cloth tied around her hair and the dust across her nose looking decidedly out of place with her silver star and pistol. She'd been cleaning again. Dylan sighed. At this rate, he and Rhade wouldn't be able to walk in their own room for fear of bringing in a speck of dirt. For such a tomboy, Rommie sure had an annoyingly strong neatness streak.

"Where's the kid?" he asked her. She was too responsible to have left him alone if she thought he'd cause trouble.

Rommie pointed to the cell and Dylan looked again, harder this time. The kid was still there, but he was obviously trying to make himself as small and invisible as possible. Dylan had to admit he was doing a pretty good job. He had wedged himself between the back wall and the end of the cot, his back against the iron bars of the wall the two cells shared. With his knees drawn up and his shoulders scrunched down, he was easy to miss until you got pinned by the icy glare shooting from those blue eyes.

"He said anything or given you any trouble?"

"Not a word and he's behaved himself, but if looks could kill I'm sure I'd be dead and buried by now," Rommie said.

Dylan laughed a little. "Thanks, Rommie, I can take it from here. Why don't you head out and make the rounds of the town. Rhade's not back yet and I wanna make sure things stay quiet tonight."

Rommie nodded. She untied the cloth from her head and slipped on her hat before disappearing into the fading sunlight outside.

Dylan stepped up to the bars of the cell. The kid's eyes followed him and Dylan saw that underneath the anger they were filled with fear. He scanned him from spiky hair to filthy bare feet and also noted that the boy was in less than pristine shape. The skin around both eyes was black and his bottom lip was split and swollen, trails of dried blood smeared across his face from his lip and nose showing how he had tried to wipe it away with his shoulders, being robbed of the use of his hands. Sadly, Dylan realized he'd been so busy trying to control and contain the kid, he'd forgotten he might have been injured. After all, no matter why the fight started and who was right or wrong, it had still been five against one; and a very small one at that.

"I'm glad to see you've calmed down. And I'm sorry it took me so long to get back here, but my day got busy. That happens when you're the Marshal. Anyway, are you okay?"

The boy just glared at him.

Dylan breathed deeply. He had a feeling this was going to be difficult. He tried a different approach.

"Bet you'd like those off," he gestured to the cuffs that still bound the boy's arms. "Come over here and I'll remove them."

Dylan watched a battle of emotions rage across the boy's face and eyes; fear of getting too close to Dylan fought against the desperate desire to have his hands free and the cuffs off. Finally, the latter won.

Clumsily, the boy climbed to his feet, moving stiffly. _Too_ stiffly for it to just be the cuffs limiting his movement; Dylan realized the boy must be in pain. He walked cautiously over to stand in front of Dylan.

"Turn around," Dylan ordered kindly. The boy obeyed and Dylan reached through the bars and unlocked the handcuffs. He pulled them off and back through the bars, wondering once again at the scars he saw as he let the kid's arms drop free.

The boy immediately stepped back out of reach and turned to face the Marshal, rolling his shoulders and rubbing at his wrists.

"Better?"

He nodded.

"Good, now I figured you must be hungry so I brought you some dinner." Dylan uncovered the plate and offered it through the bars to the boy. "You might as well eat it while it's still hot. We can talk while you eat."

Harper stared warily at the offered food. This day had really, really stunk. It started out so good but typical of his miserable life, it quickly went downhill to the point that he was now staring at the Marshal from the wrong side of some iron bars.

At least the man had freed his hands… And the food did smell good… Sure, he was hungry, but he wasn't starving. A week ago he would have snatched the food up so fast it was embarrassing, but now he took a moment to think about it.

He was actually rather confused. He'd spent a lot of time locked up; he knew what to expect, what the rules were. Getting dinner and being spoken to kindly were not supposed to be part of the experience. He couldn't quite wrap his brain around how he should act. Finally, he decided what the heck. Even if he got sent away, or back to prison, or to..._that_ place again there was no sense in wasting food when it was offered. He reached out and took the plate from the Marshal. Then he retreated until his back touched the wall and slid down to the floor again, putting as much space between him and the other man as the cell allowed.

"You're welcome," Dylan said even though he hadn't been thanked. He pulled a chair over and sat down outside the bars facing the kid. He let him eat in silence for a moment, giving him time to realize he wasn't going to do anything to hurt him.

"You don't have to sit on the floor," Dylan offered after several minutes of observing the boy. "The cot's there for a reason."

Harper glanced up at him then quickly back down, shrugging. Maybe, but life had burned several unshakeable instincts and habits into him. It might be silly but he couldn't help feeling he was safer on the floor.

"Fine, suit yourself," Dylan conceded. "So, first question, what's your name?"

"Harper," Harper mumbled around a mouthful of food. He could have been stubborn and resisted, but what was the point? He knew who held all the cards right now; he was in an iron cage for Pete's sake, he'd be an idiot not to!

"Just Harper?" Dylan raised his eyebrows in an uncanny imitation of Beka asking the same question.

"Seamus Harper, but I don't like to be called Seamus."

"How old are you, Harper?"

_Why did everyone care how old he was? _"Seventeen," Harper said fearfully. Only he knew why admitting his real age could be so dangerous, but at the same time he didn't dare lie here.

_Hmmm_, Dylan thought. Based on the boy's size he would have guessed fourteen.

"So, Harper, you've been accused of some pretty serious things and you're in a whole heap of trouble. Wanna tell me why you were hurting Miss Gemini and stealing money?"

That got a response.

"I wasn't!" Harper cried angrily. "I didn't do nothing to Trance! I wouldn't do that! And I didn't steal any money!"

"The other boys say you did. There are five witnesses against you."

"Well they're lying scabs!" Harper hissed.

"Why would they lie?"

"I don't know!" He was getting agitated. "Because they're jerks?"

"Why should I trust you?" Dylan asked, leaning forward in his chair and staring the boy down. "It's obvious you've stolen before."

Harper clenched his left hand tightly and glared daggers at the marshal. It wasn't fair that he was continually condemned by his past because of a little mark he would never be able to get rid of.

"I didn't steal anything and I didn't hurt Trance. I was just talking to her," Harper ground out between clenched teeth, his accent thickening with his emotions.

"And you're telling me this on your word as a convicted criminal," Dylan shot back. The boy said nothing. "Alright, let's cut to the chase. I wanna know where you got the tattoo, how long you were in prison, and if you left legally or not," he pressed sternly, the time for leniency passed. "While you're at it throw in the story behind the scars on your wrists and ankles. As far as I know, pick-pockets aren't generally kept in irons unless they do something a little nastier. Now talk!"

Harper stubbornly clamped his lips shut.

"I can come back in a couple of days and we can try this again, and I can guarantee I won't bring fresh pie with me…"

Harper just continued to glare at him, his anger mounting. Suddenly, he reached out and kicked the metal plate hard in frustration. It shot across the floor and clattered to a stop against the cell bars. "Why should I tell you anything?" he yelled. "You're not gonna believe a word I say, so why should I tell ya? You're just like everybody else and no matter what I tell you, your mind's already made up! You're just gonna beat on me or lock me up like every other person in this lousy world so I don't think I should hafta tell you nothing!"

"Look, kid," Dylan said quickly, "I don't know what you think I do but I'm not going to 'beat on you'."

"You already locked me up," Harper reminded him. "I told ya I didn't do anything and you still locked me up and I don't see ya scrambling to let me go. Maybe you're just waiting until it's dark to pound on me so no one will see."

Dylan sighed and stood up right next to the bars. "Harper," he stared down at the boy, "I am not going to hurt you; you're just going to have to take my word for that. But I am getting very tired of you dodging my questions."

"Why can't you just go ask Trance? She'll tell you I didn't hurt her, that I was just talking to her?" Harper pleaded.

"I intend to do that, but it's too late to disturb her tonight. It will have to wait until morning. In the meantime, answer the questions!" Dylan ordered. "Where'd you get the tattoo?"

"In prison, in Boston," Harper surrendered bitterly.

"Pick-pocketing?"

"Aye."

"When?"

"A freakin' long time ago, okay!"

Dylan just stared at him coolly until he looked down at his toes again, cowed. "I got caught when I was eleven. Spent a year there," he mumbled.

"Released or ran?"

"Released!" Harper stressed the word.

Dylan let it go for now. "And then what?"

"Came out here and stuff," the boy said, his voice suddenly quiet and guarded again.

"And what stuff?" Dylan prodded, not satisfied.

"It's none of your freakin' business!" Harper snapped.

"What else did you do?" Dylan pressed. "Steal again? Maybe hurt someone? Get caught again? What did you do?"

"Argh, nothing, okay!" Harper yelled folding his arms around his body in distress. "Just stop asking questions! Stop!"

"Where did you come from and who put you in chains!" Dylan shouted right over him, refusing to give up. "Who? _Who!_"

"THEY DID!" Harper exploded holding his head.

The office fell into a dead silence. Harper was white as a ghost and shaking.

"They who?" Dylan finally asked quietly.

"They did…" Harper mumbled, unable to look up from the floor and rocking slightly. "My people…the ones I stayed with…belong to…"

"Some people you stayed with chained you up?" Dylan asked skeptically and Harper nodded. "Why?"

"So I wouldn't leave," Harper said flatly, wondering why Dylan asked questions with such obvious answers.

"So you're telling me you aren't a criminal and you didn't get these scars in prison?"

"I told you you wouldn't believe me."

Dylan rubbed his forehead, suddenly aware of his pounding headache.

"What were you doing in my town today, then?" he asked.

"I came in with my boss to help her shop for…" Harper's voice trailed off as he remembered. _Beka_! He should have thought of her earlier, but he was used to being alone. He wasn't accustomed to having people on his side willing to help him. But surely Beka would! She'd believed him and trusted him and she wouldn't let this marshal send him off to prison or back _there_ without a fight.

"You gotta go get Beka!" he said suddenly, standing up and daring to take a couple of steps toward Dylan, "I mean Miss Valentine, out at the Maru. Please? She's my boss and she believes me! She'll tell you I'm not lying and that I didn't do anything to hurt Trance! She can tell you that I haven't stolen anything from her even though there were lots of times I could have! Please, please go get her?" Harper was begging now, but he couldn't help it. He wanted out of that cage. The longer he was there the more he felt like the walls were closing in on him, pushing him back to a place he had worked so hard to escape from and forget. He just wanted to go back to his little room in Beka's house with the creaky floor and soft bed; the first place he'd ever dared call "home" even if it did come with an ape like Bobby attached to it.

Dylan studied the kid thoughtfully. It was obvious he really did work for Beka Valentine. What's more, he was confident enough in his place there to assert that she'd vouch for him. He could have forced her, or coerced her, but Dylan had never known Beka to be coerced into anything. After a moment, Dylan realized he believed the kid, and not just about Beka but about everything – scars, tattoo, the incident from earlier – the whole shebang.

However, he couldn't just turn the boy loose based on that. There were five witnesses against him. He needed proof before he could release Harper.

"Please?" Harper begged again and Dylan heard the desperation in his voice.

"I heard you, Harper," the Marshal held up his hand to stop the pleading boy. "Now just listen for a minute. Yes, I will go get Miss Valentine and bring her here to help straighten all this out, but not tonight. It's way too late, it's almost ten o'clock. And I can't let you go until I have her word or Miss Gemini's. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted and need to rest. Just go to sleep and in the morning we'll get to the bottom of this, one way or the other."

Harper looked thoroughly beaten and he sank to the floor of the cell again.

"Aw come on, kid, it's not that bad. The cot's even pretty comfy."

The boy didn't look up from the floorboards as he spoke. "Please? I just wanna go back to the Maru," he whispered in a small voice. "Please don't make me stay here all night…"

Dylan sighed. Whirlwind of emotions, this kid… He crouched down so he was eye level with the boy and gazed at him through the bars. "Harper, I'm the marshal in this town. I have to do what the law says and what's right even when sometimes it's hard or I don't really like it. I _can't _let you out right now, okay? But I promise no one is gonna hurt you while you're in there, me included. Just go to sleep and in the morning I'll go get Beka and Miss Gemini and if they agree with what you've told me, you'll be free to go. If not…well, we'll discuss that later."

Realizing there was nothing else he could do and that once again all control of his life was in the hands of another, Harper nodded resignedly.

Dylan stood back up and turned around but Harper stopped him with a request.

"Can I have some water?"

The boy meant water to drink, but the question reminded Dylan that the kid was still a bloody mess, not to mention he probably had other issues that needed to be tended to. He made up his mind.

Picking his keys up from the desk, he unlocked the cell.

"Come with me," he said, taking the boy firmly by the right arm. Then he issued a warning. "You bolt or try anything funny, not only will I catch you so fast you won't know what hit you, I'll throw you back in the cell with the handcuffs on again for the night. And it also really wouldn't reflect well on me believing everything you've just told me. Got it?"

Harper nodded. Oh yeah, he got it, clear as crystal.

Dylan led him over to a washbasin in the backroom and allowed him to wash his face and hands. Harper winced as he prodded his tender lip and the many bruises scattered across his face but he didn't say anything. The Marshal then gave him a long drink of cool water that helped sooth his dusty, parched throat and then the older man waited outside the outhouse door while Harper took care of that problem. Then it was back to the cell to be locked in for the night.

"Get some sleep, kid. We'll figure it all out in the morning," Dylan assured him as he pulled the cot out of the empty cell and into the middle of the room, intending play night guard just like he would for any other prisoner.

_A prisoner_. Harper thought the words with frustration and a little shame. How come that was always his lot in life, no matter how hard he tried to get away? Why did he always have to be someone's prisoner; nothing more than a body for someone to knock around, beat on, and then lock away?

Utterly dejected, he sank onto the cot and turned his back on the room, staring through the bars into the empty cell next door so no one would see the tiny tears if they happened to leak out.


	14. Chapter 13

THANK YOU, THANK YOU all who have reviewed! I love reading your comments, seeing what you notice, what you like, what you think will happen. You guys are the best. I'm having a blast with this story and hope you all are too! Thanks again!

**Chapter 13**

Rommie decided to make one last sweep of the town before heading off to her room in the boarding house. It was almost midnight and she hadn't encountered any trouble since she escorted Calvino, the resident drunk, out of the saloon and forced him to go home before his shrew of a wife Astrid came looking for him and woke the whole town. A couple of the guys around the bar had looked like they wanted to start something, but one glance from her and they just ordered more drinks.

It had taken a few days, but the town was starting to accept the fact that she, a woman, was a Deputy Marshal. It probably hadn't hurt that she'd taken two local thugs down single-handedly on the second day, however. She smiled. _Ah respect, it sure was nice._

Only one street and one short alley left to go and then she could sink into a nice, hot bubble bath followed by her little bed.

She walked purposefully down the street, scanning left and right. All appeared normal, nice and quiet and still. She peeked down the alley that ran behind the livery stable and, seeing nothing, was about to turn around and head for home when the sound of furious whispers drifted from behind the stable's closed doors.

"I told you not…!" "Just a little cigar… If you wouldn't have bumped…!" "Hurry, get something to put it out!"

Instantly alert, she drew her gun and crept toward the livery, keeping to the shadows. It sounded more like kids messing around than a real problem, but it never hurt to be prepared. When she was within five feet of the door she noticed thin curls of smoke slipping from underneath it.

"Great, just what I wanted tonight," she muttered. "Why do kids always have to experiment with tobacco while hiding in a place full of dry grass?" she raised her eyes and asked the sky.

She reached out and jerked open the door. Smoke poured out around her and she coughed, waving it away with her hands. Through the cloudy billows she saw four shadows race around the corner of the livery and disappear, but she couldn't see them well enough to identify them. And she didn't have time to give chase right now as the flames were spreading quickly through the piles of straw.

She grabbed the bucket one of them had left tipped on the ground and rushed to the watering trough just outside. She was on her third trip back and forth when a very tired, very grumpy looking Rhade road up, intending to bed his horse down for the night at the livery. He blinked for a moment at the piles of smoke, then wordlessly slid off and grabbed another bucket, joining in the fight.

It really wasn't that big of a fire and in a few minutes the two had it out completely. The livery was fine, just down a few stacks of straw and hay and two pitch-forks that had tragically perished in the blaze.

They both staggered outside to the fresh air and leaned against the building, coughing from the smoke and rubbing soot from their faces.

After a few moments, Rhade found his breath again. "Why didn't you call for help?" he demanded.

Rommie looked puzzled. "Why should I have? I had it under control."

"Didn't look very controlled when I rode up."

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it could have gotten way out of hand and burnt the whole place down! _And_ you could have gotten hurt!"

Rommie ignored the first sentence. Her eyes flashed dangerously as she turned to face him squarely. "I knew what I was doing, Mac! I'm not an idiot, like you seem to think I am!"

Rhade stepped away from the barn as well, his voice rising. "I don't think you're an idiot, I –"

"No, you think I'm still a little girl!" Rommie interrupted him. "You think I'm a scabby-kneed little girl whom you can't get rid of and you think you need to protect. Well, I have news for you, Telemachus Rhade, I grew up! I've been to heck and back and I don't need you or anyone else looking out for me! And until you get that through your thick skull all you're gonna see is that little girl in pig-tails!" she paused for breath, her chest heaving, and ran a hand through her hair in anger. "Tell Dylan I'll be by in the morning to discuss the fire. I'm going to bed!"

She stormed off and Rhade watched her go with frustration.

"Ergh!" he growled, turning and punching the livery wall with his fist. Pain shot through his hand and he breathed sharply, forcing himself to calm down and come back to his senses. "No, I don't think you're an idiot, and I don't think you're a little girl," he finally mumbled to the empty space where she had been moments before, shaking his throbbing hand. "I think you are a woman. A very beautiful, very confusing, very frustrating woman!"

He put his waiting horse up for the night and then slunk back to the office and his cot in the back room, convinced, after the day he'd just had, that someone in the cosmos was out to get him.

OOOOO

Rhade stalked through the office about ten to one in the morning, smelling of smoke and muttering about family feuds, frustrating females, and fate. Dylan thought it best to let him alone until morning as he was looking very much like a grumpy grizzly bear.

The Marshal lay back tiredly on his borrowed cot and put his hands behind his head, staring at the cell. The boy had abandoned his own cot hours ago, dragging the blanket with him and wedging himself once more into his little corner. With the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he sat hugging his knees again, too stubborn or too afraid to sleep. And Dylan found it impossible to sleep as well with those too-wise, blue eyes piercing him, following his every move. It was only an hour ago that the boy's pain and exhaustion had finally gotten the better of him. His eyes drifted shut and his head tipped sidewise against the wall in sleep, but even asleep his body remained tense and ridged.

Dylan breathed a sigh of relief that Rhade's entrance hadn't woken him up. He really didn't think he could handle even ten more minutes of that silent, accusing scrutiny.

He had to admit he felt rather bad he had to keep the boy locked up. Not that he completely trusted the kid, he was a convict after all, but it was obvious that the kid had been seriously hurt and abused by someone in the past. It went against everything Dylan stood for to see a child hurt like that and to assist in continuing it.

Of course, that didn't mean he wanted Harper out at the Maru around Beka Valentine, either. It was bad enough that she was practically married to that waste of flesh and bones Bobby Jensen. He really didn't want a little pick-pocket running loose on the place as well, no matter what his sob story was. He'd probably turned those blue orbs on Beka and conned his way into a job, and she didn't even know about his past or what that tattoo meant.

A noise from the cell drew Dylan's attention and he sat up. It came again and he realized the boy was whimpering. Dylan stepped right up to the bars now, curious and a bit concerned. The kid was still asleep, but he was obviously having a dream of some kind, or more appropriately a nightmare. He was trembling. Tears leaked from his eyes and his face was contorted in terror, but he had one fist pressed up against his mouth to block any screams, letting only whimpers escape. His other arm was raised as if to ward off falling blows.

Dylan just watched for a moment, thinking. It was obvious the boy had learned long ago to keep silent while dreaming, to lock his screams or cries deep inside. Dylan wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but he didn't like it.

After a bit, the dream intensified and the boy could no longer keep all his cries inside. "No…!" he whispered in fear. "Please… I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

The words were garbled and barely audible as the boy was obviously trying to hold them back, but in the silence of the office Dylan heard them plainly. They chilled him.

"Hey, kid!" he called quietly, not wanting to frighten him more. "Harper, wake up. You're having a bad dream."

Harper was too caught up in the horror of the dream to hear him. "Please…don't leave me in the dark… Just one candle, please…!"

The boy cringed deeper and his pleading whispers rose in pitch. "Harper!" Dylan called louder. He banged the cell bars.

Harper's eyes shot open, instantly awake. He was breathing heavily and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

"You were dreaming," Dylan explained, trying to expel the fear in those eyes. "Sorry if I startled you, but I needed to wake you up. It's okay now; you can go back to sleep. No one will hurt you here."

Dylan didn't know what else to do or say. He couldn't very well walk into the cell and offer his prisoner comfort. Not only would that be inappropriate, but he was pretty sure that would just freak the kid out more. The boy was safe, no one was going to hurt him despite what he might believe, so there really wasn't much else the Marshal could do at the moment.

Trying to ignore the eyes that followed him and attempted to bore a hole through him once more, Dylan went back to his own cot and lay down. This was already a very long night and it was still far from morning. He sighed deeply.


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

In her little, upstairs room at the back of the bank, Trance Gemini tossed in her sleep. Images flashed through her mind, twisting, turning, combining like threads weaving together, flickering too fast to see or understand. People and faces and events chased each other through her head, pushed by a growing sense of urgency.

Abruptly, she shot up in her bed, gasping for air. Her white, cotton nightdress was soaked through with sweat and the quilt was twisted around her legs. The girl breathed harshly for several minutes, her heart racing.

_It was happening again! The dreams, the images, they were back!_ She stifled a sob as she wrapped her slim arms around her body, hugging herself. More than anything she'd wanted this never to happen again! Last time…last time, no one had believed her until it was too late…

It didn't matter what she wanted, though. The dreams were back, and once again she didn't understand them. People were in trouble, events were going to happen… That was all she could see.

But her gut told her something was coming, something big…

OOOOO

It was almost two in the morning when Beka stood outside the Marshal's door, debating whether to knock or not. She hated to disturb anyone at this unearthly hour, but at the same time, she didn't know what else to do. Rev and she had searched for hours, everywhere they could think of, and hadn't found one hair of her spiky-headed hired-hand. It was looking more and more likely that the events of the day had pushed him too far and he'd split. She had to admit that she would probably never see him again, but a desperate desire to hang onto hope had her standing outside the Marshal's Office anyway. Rev had wanted to come, too, voicing concerns about her being out so late by herself, but she'd told him firmly she could take care of herself. Rev needed to stay at the Maru in the unlikely event that Harper came back there on his own.

Funny how, once he was gone, she realized how she missed the kid. He might be nothing more than a ragged beggar in the eyes of everyone else, but one week with him living under her roof was enough to convince her there was something special about him, something worth saving.

With that thought, she made up her mind and firmly knocked on the door.

OOOOO

The sound of someone knocking on the office door pulled Dylan from his light doze. He glanced quickly at the cell and saw that the boy was dozing again as well, still crammed in his little corner. Dylan sat up and shook his head, running a hand through his hair tiredly.

"Now what?" he mumbled as the quiet knock came again. He was actually used to being pulled from his bed at all hours of the night; it sort of came with the badge, but usually the town managed to contain itself to one or two disasters a night. This night was working up to be record breaking. He was a little surprised then, when he pulled the door open, to find a haggard looking Beka Valentine on the other side.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late," she whispered, "but I need some help."

Dylan forced his brain to form words and send them to his mouth as he fought the urge to keep staring. "No problem," he assured her, stepping aside as he belatedly remembered manners. "Come in out of the street."

Beka noticed the cot in the office and his rumpled appearance but didn't comment. She waited for the Marshal to close the door and turn up the lamp before she spoke.

"I know it's late but I didn't know what else to do. I hired this kid, see. He's just a scrawny, little mutt and I probably was a bit rash, but I needed the help and he needed the food. Anyway, he ran off today and I've looked everywhere. I know he's probably gone for good, but he's kinda grown on me and I can't help worrying he's in trouble. I thought I'd check here before I totally give up; see if you could help me or even if you've seen…" Beka's voice trailed off as she observed Dylan's expression. He looked very much like a man with a guilty secret and he kept glancing over at something. She followed his gaze to the first cell in the room and found two scared, blue eyes staring back at her.

"Harper!" she cried, stepping up to the cell in alarm. The boy hiding in the corner flinched at her loud tone and Beka frowned. She pulled the door to go in and check on him and was suprised to discover it was locked.

She turned back to Dylan in shock. "You locked him in?" she asked incredulously.

"Miss Valentine," Dylan began, trying to calm the woman.

"It's Beka," she interrupted shortly.

"Beka," he tried again, "there's more going on here than you know…"

She turned away from him in impatience and disgust. "Shorty," she called to Harper who was watching the two adults with wary eyes. "Stand up and come here," she ordered. He hesitated a moment so Beka softened her tone. "Come on, Kiddo," she encouraged.

Dylan observed how patient and kind Beka was with the boy and his heart beat a little faster, despite his best efforts to control it. This care, this tenderness, was a side of the tough rancher he had never seen before and it somehow made her even more attractive.

While Dylan was momentarily lost in his thoughts, Harper looked at Beka intently for a bit longer and then stood up slowly, sore muscles protesting. Beka's anger grew as she took in the new bruises and cuts on his face, the painful movements, the fresh blood and tears in his shirt. She'd always thought the Marshal was a good, decent guy, even thought him kind of handsome, but this was too much. She rounded on him in a fury.

"You beat him!" she hissed. "You beat him up and then threw him in a cell and locked it? How could you? He's just a kid!"

Dylan held up his hands in defense and backed a few steps away from the sparks in those fiery eyes. "No!" he cried. "Of course I didn't beat him! What kind of man do you think I am, to beat up a boy?"

"A man who'd better start talking real fast!"

"Look, there was a fight in town this morning. The boy was in the middle of it along with five other kids and that's how he got hurt. I broke it up but he just went wild and I had to put him in here while he cooled off."

"And why aren't the other five in here _cooling off_?" Beka growled.

"Beka," he said seriously, concern in his voice, "they're good kids who've never been in trouble before. I know each one of them and their families. But your boy here, I've never seen him before in my life. The others accused him of some rather serious crimes. I had to lock him up until I could find out the truth."

"So what is he accused of?" Beka demanded, her hands on her hips.

"Stealing money and harassing Miss Gemini."

"Okay, number one," she asked, holding up a finger as she unconsciously backed the Marshal toward the wall, "did you find any money on him?"

"Well, no, but – "

"Number two," Beka's second finger came up as she rushed on, not letting him speak, "as soon as you locked him up, you walked out and found the girl and got her side of the story, right?"

Dylan was almost fidgeting like a guilty schoolboy. Only strong restraint kept the urge under control. "Beka, being the Marshal is a busy job! Sometimes things come up that I have to take care of. So no, I didn't get around to that right away."

Beka exploded. "You kept this boy locked up all day and night because you got too busy and forgot?"

"Beka, listen to me – "

"No, Marshal Hunt, you listen to me! While you were off taking care of your little Marshal things, I've been searching all day, worried sick, because I couldn't find this boy. A boy that you left cowering in a metal cage all that time, terrified! Now, if you had taken the time to come and get me, I could have told you that Harper was with me all morning, until that bigot of a shopkeeper chucked him out for coming from the wrong end of the British Empire. He didn't have time to steal anything, and he didn't have anywhere to put it if he did! As far as Trance goes, I was watching for most of it and he did nothing wrong, unless making friends with young ladies his own age is now somehow forbidden in your perfect, little town! Trance could have told you the same thing, if you had felt like asking her. Oh, and want to know what your model little citizens were up to after you sent them home? They conveniently forgot to mention you had Harper locked up in your cell when I asked them if they'd seen him this afternoon. They were most helpful to tell me they saw him walking back to the ranch. Such nice, helpful children…"

Dylan watched her ranting and found himself thinking how attractive she was when she was angry. How was it that all the women in his life were both beautiful and fully capable of tearing his head off if they should want to? He really needed to have a chat with Rhade about that. Later, _if_ he lived.

"I admit I should have come for you sooner, or brought Miss Gemini in before it got too late, but things really did come up that I had to take care of," Dylan said. "And Mr. Harper here doesn't exactly scream honest, upstanding citizen." He saw her point, but he also didn't feel he had done anything wrong. The boy had a criminal past against him, and Dylan had acted on the information he had in the way he thought was best to protect all the people in his town.

"Neither do half the people in this town, Dylan Hunt, but I don't see you throwing them in a cell," Beka countered, refusing to back down.

"Beka, guilty or not, I really don't think you should have this boy working out at your ranch. That tattoo on his hand is more than just a funny number, it's an identification mark. I know you feel sorry for him, want to help him, because you are a good person, but you should think about this a little more. Do you realize he has a criminal record? That he's a convict? Been in prison? Who knows how many times he's been in and out of there, how many years he's spent behind bars. I didn't think one night in a holding cell would kill him and I wasn't about to send him back out to the Maru without at least warning you, okay?"

Beka's eyes turned cold. "You," she growled, jabbing her finger in Dylan's chest, "outside, right now!" There were things she needed to say and she was fully aware that too much had already been said in front of Harper. The boy was standing in the middle of the cell, his head bowed, looking thoroughly kicked and beaten.

"What?" Dylan asked in surprise.

"I said, outside! This conversation is not over yet!" She turned to Harper, "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back." She marched out the door and waited for Dylan to come out and close the door after him before she completely laid into him.

"Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?"

Dylan blinked, not expecting that comment.

"I've just spent a week trying to convince that boy that no one is gonna hurt him, that he is just a good as anyone else, that he actually has a right to be treated like a human being instead of a dog, and in one day you've managed to completely destroy any progress and then some! Did you even ask him if he did it, before you chucked him in that cell?"

"Of course I asked him," Dylan said, his own temper rising.

"Did you listen to his answer? Did you ask him how he got the tattoo? Did he deny being in prison, being a thief? 'Cause guess what, I'm not as naive and stupid as you seem to think I am! I also saw the tattoo and I also asked him about it, and while it wasn't the easiest thing I've ever done, I got him to tell me the answers, too. Did he tell you the part about spending a year in a filthy prison when he was the ripe, old age of eleven? Or maybe the part about being taken in by a family who thought he made a good punching bag."

She stopped, realizing just how loud her voice was becoming and not really wanting the whole town to be privy to this conversation. Frustrated, she closed her eyes and swore softly.

"Beka," he said, controlling his anger and stepping closer to her, putting a hand on her arm, "he did tell me some of that while we were talking tonight. And if it's any consolation, I believed him and I had every intention of riding out at first light to get you and straighten this whole thing up. You just beat me to it. I didn't mean to cause you more worry, and I really didn't want to keep him locked up, but sometimes I have to do what the law says even when I'm not happy about it. If I started picking and choosing when to follow the rules, I wouldn't be qualified to wear this badge. And I can't help it if I was worried about him being around you."

"You locked him up, Dylan! I know he's not an angel, and I know he's been on the wrong side of the law, but he told you the truth and you still kept him locked up. Do you have any idea how traumatic this has probably been for him? The memories it's brought back that I've been working hard to erase?"

"Yes," Dylan answered seriously, remembering the nightmare he'd pulled the kid from, "and I'm sorry, but like you, I didn't know what else to do. I'm only human, Beka. I make mistakes, too."

OOOOO

Harper sat down on the edge of the cot and listened to the muffled, angry voices filtering in through the wooden door. They were too garbled to make out what was being said, but he could figure that out pretty well on his own. His face flushed with shame and he felt like such a freak. The Marshal thought he was gonna hurt Beka and deserved to stay locked up. The town thought he was a dirty, Irish thief, and Beka probably wanted to kill him for putting her through so much trouble.

Unconsciously, he clenched his left hand tightly and ducked his head, gazing with resignation at the scars around his wrists and ankles. He should have known better… He should have just stayed in the hole he had lived in instead of trying to get out. He should have known there was nothing better out there, not for people like him.

Memories flashed across his mind and he shuddered, drawing his arms around himself tightly.

On second thought, any place was better than _there_! He would rather go back to prison than go back there! Of course, if he had a choice, he would pick none of the above.

An idea that had been warring with his conscious for most of the night flared bright again. He dug a grubby hand in his pocket and came up with a three-inch piece of wire. He glanced furtively at the door, but the discussion outside was still going strong. _It was now or never…_

The lock on the door was really quite easy. There was a small click and the bars swung open about an inch. He glanced at the outside door again, but there was no change. He knew the way through the backroom, was confident he could sneak past that other guy…

He pushed the bars another inch but then stopped, his face screwed up in thought.

Eight hours ago, when that woman had left him all alone in the office while she did whatever in the backroom, he would have been so gone. But eight hours ago he'd been in handcuffs and unable to do anything about it. Then, after his conversation with the Marshal, he'd begun to hope maybe everything would be alright. He could have sneaked out several times while the man was sleeping, but he didn't. He'd clung to hope that Beka would come, and he didn't want to do anything to make her more upset. And she had come! For the first time in his life, someone had come to rescue him; come in spitting fire in his defense. The more they argued outside, however, the more he wondered if she would be able to get him out of this.

He started out of the cell but indecision stopped him again and he pulled back. Still, she _had_ come. Beka was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It would be awful to throw that away if she was seconds away from getting him released anyway…

He'd never had to make a decision like this and he didn't know what to do. Trust was not his forte and it was going against every instinct he had to trust Beka, despite everything she'd done for him.

"Argh!" he growled under his breath, pushing his hands through his hair in frustration. Finally, wondering if he'd completely lost it, he stepped back into the cell and pulled the door shut again, listening to the lock click.

One thing he promised himself, though. If Beka didn't manage to get him out of this, there was no way in heck he was sticking around to find out what the Marshal had planned.

He had barely sat down on the cot again when the office door opened and Beka and a thoroughly chastised Marshal stepped through. Dylan walked over to pick up his keys off the desk but Beka stopped him.

"Wait," she said to the man, not taking her eyes off Harper as she spoke. "I want you to know something. I want you to realize I trust this kid and you should, too. Harper?" she asked. "How many times have you already opened that cell door on your own?"

Harper was stunned, almost as stunned as Dylan. "O..only once!" he stammered, panicked.

"Sh, it's okay, kid, you're not in trouble." She turned back to the Marshal. "My point is, this kid is good. He could have been out and gone long before I ever got here. You sleeping in this room was not gonna stop him if he wanted out. But he _didn't_ leave! And if that doesn't tell you anything, you're more stupid than I thought." She grabbed the keys from the gaping man and marched up to the cell. The lock clicked open and she flung the door wide.

"Come on, Seamus, we're going home."

OOOOO

It was nearly four in the morning before they made it back to the Maru. Harper reluctantly put up with Rev Bem's fussing over his injuries, too tired and too grateful to be free to object.

Once the monk was done it was Beka's turn. She laid into him heartily for a good ten minutes, going on about being worried sick and him never, _ever_ doing anything like that to her again. Then, much to his eternal embarrassment, she proceeded to smother him in a bone-crushing hug.

Finally, he got away and managed to flee to his little, upstairs room; exhausted, confused, and strangely happy. He was stopped from falling into the bed by an odd package on top. Puzzled, he carefully pulled off the paper and almost gasped. There, crisp and folded neatly, was a brand new, store-bought shirt; just his size.

After the rest of the day, it was just too much. For the first time in years, his eyes filled up with tears and Seamus Harper allowed himself to cry.


	16. Chapter 15

Sorry this chapter is so short. Blame my 10 page historiographic essay.

**Chapter 15**

Harper's eyes popped open at six the next morning and no amount of trying would convince his inner clock that he hadn't seriously overslept. Beka had told him to sleep as long as he liked since they were both exhausted, but he couldn't shake years of painful training in one night. He finally climbed stiffly out of bed and pulled on his trousers over his long-johns. After a moment of thought, he opened one of the dresser drawers and brought out the old, long-sleeved undershirt Beka had given him to wear that first day. He slipped it on, tucked it in, and then pulled his braces up, wincing slightly as they rubbed the still tender skin of his back through the undershirt. Then he gathered up his dirt, tattered shirt and crept from the house to do the morning chores.

OOOOO

"What happened to you?"

The hay on his pitchfork slid off as Harper whipped around to find Bobby Jensen leaning in the door of the barn, taking in every thing from his bruised and battered face to the stiff way he moved to his lack of shirt and rather dirty undershirt.

"None of your business," Harper muttered, not in the mood to play good, little slave. He turned away from the big man and back to his work.

"Hey!" Bobby growled, snagging a thin stick from a pile of kindling and advancing on the boy, "I asked you a question!"

Harper flinched when a blow landed across his shoulder blades but just kept pitching hay to the horses. "And I gave you an answer," he hissed. "It ain't none of your business and since you're just gonna beat me, too, why do you care who got to it first?" He paused for just a moment, sneaking a glance back at the other man. "And where were you all night, anyway?"

Two more blows stung Harper's tender back and then Bobby whacked the back of his head with his beefy hand. "I don't have time for this right now but don't you dare get uppity with me! And never, ever question me, you hear that, boy!" he bellowed.

Harper ducked his head so Bobby wouldn't see him roll his eyes and nodded.

"Good," Bobby said, smacking him again. "Now finish here and then go start hoeing the corn field." He brought the stick down one last time, just for good measure, then left Harper alone in the barn.

As soon as the man was out of sight, Harper winced and let his shoulders drop, grimacing as he carefully rolled and tested the muscles in his back. _Great. Just what he needed, more bruises._

OOOOO

The smells of bacon cooking and coffee brewing pulled Beka gently from her sleep. She smiled with her eyes closed and rolled over, savoring the scents. There was nothing better then waking up to a good breakfast cooking.

Her eyes shot open! Just who the heck was cooking it? Surely not that kid? He'd probably burn the house down!

Alarmed, she dragged herself out of bed, trying to ignore how tired she still was from the night before. She pulled on a skirt and a blouse, splashed a little water on her face and ran her fingers through her hair. She glanced at her dad's pocket watch as she left the room: quarter to nine in the morning.

The door to Rafe's old room was open and she glanced in to see a rumpled bed but no Harper. She shook her head. _That boy_… She knew he was totally worn out; why didn't he stay in bed like she told him?

Still mumbling about stubborn teenagers, she took the back stairs down into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Beautiful!"

Beka gasp in shock at the sight before her. "Bobby!" she said in surprise. The table was laden with griddle cakes, bacon, and eggs. Coffee bubbled on the stove and a foaming pitcher of fresh, warm milk graced the table. "What is all this?" she asked in amazement.

"Just a little something special for my gal," Bobby gushed, stealing a kiss. "I thought you deserved it.

Still stunned, Beka circled the table, taking it all in. She had to admit she was starving and it did smell wonderful. "Where's Harper?" she asked, seeing that it was only set for two.

Bobby's face darkened slightly at the mention of the boy's name and he looked away. "What does it matter where the runt is?" he asked gruffly. "Does he have to be included in everything we do now? Can't I spend a little time with my girl without the brat there as well?"

"Bobby, I just wanted to know where he is," Beka admonished.

"I sent him out to hoe the corn after he did the chores. I figured you deserved to sleep in once in awhile and that's what he's here for, ain't it?"

Beka sighed and glanced out the window toward the corn patch. She could see the tops of the stalks waving in the morning wind but no spiky-haired kid. Something fluttering in the breeze caught her eye, however, and she looked over to see the boy's ragged shirt hanging from the clothesline. A bucket and a scrub-board sitting nearby told her he'd done his best to wash the dirt and bloodstains from it. She shook her head and turned back to Bobby.

"Bobby, if anyone deserves to sleep in after yesterday it's that kid. Did you even make sure he ate before you sent him off to work?"

"Beka, just forget about the boy for a minute and come sit down and enjoy your breakfast. I know I haven't spent much time with you lately and there's some things I need to tell you."

Reluctantly, Beka allowed herself to be led to a chair.

OOOOO

The sound of the front door slamming echoed through the whole house. Beka let her head fall into her hands as she sat at the kitchen table surrounded by the remains of breakfast. Typical of so many of their conversations lately, this one had ended with shouting and Bobby storming off. But when he brought up that the reason for the attention and the breakfast was because he was leaving for a week or two "on business," she'd lost it. He knew it was almost harvest time, time to round up and sell the cattle, the busiest time of year at the ranch! How could he go and just leave? With the added worry of the mortgage hanging over her head, this year's harvest and sale would be more important then ever! She needed his help: she needed him!

He hadn't listened to her arguments, though, and before long they were both yelling. He finally stomped upstairs and came down with a pack, telling her he'd be back when he was done, and left, slamming the door behind him.

"When did things go so wrong?" she mumbled quietly to the empty room. Then she scrubbed an arm across her eyes and stood up, tying on an apron. Wallowing in self-pity didn't do anyone a bit of good. She put the left-over food on a plate in the warming-oven and quickly washed the dishes and swept the floor. Then she pulled on her boots and laced them up and headed for the corn patch. As she passed, she grabbed Harper's poor excuse for a shirt. The hot, August sun had already dried it and she noted that the new tears from yesterday had been closed by large, uneven stitches. Not only had the boy washed it to save her the trouble, he'd tried to mend it as well.

"Not bad, kid," she muttered with a small smile. "Almost better then my own sewing."

The corn patch was three acres square and the stalks taller then she was. There was no way she was going to spend the day searching it for him. "Harper!" she yelled loudly, standing at the edge, "Harper, come out for a minute!"

It wasn't long before she heard a rustling and her very dirty, very sweaty hired-hand emerged dragging a hoe behind him. Beka frowned as she saw him. The injuries from yesterday looked ten times worse today in the full sunlight. His old black-eye was a sickly shade of yellow and green while the other eye-socket was surrounded by deep blackish purple. His cheeks were bruised and scrapped, his nose slightly swollen, and his bottom lip puffy and scabbed. In short, he looked awful standing there, barefoot in just his trousers and an undershirt, streaked with dirt and sweat.

"Hey, Boss," he said awkwardly, ducking away from her intense gaze and still highly embarrassed from everything that had gone on the night before.

"You okay?" she asked after a moment, holding his shirt out to him.

"Yeah," he said, taking the garment and slipping it on over the braces and undershirt, letting it hang open in front. He looked up at her, then quickly back to his toes. "I found the new shirt," he said softly. "Thanks, Boss. It's really, really nice and I don't deserve it, you know."

"Of course you do," Beka replied firmly. "Why aren't you wearing it?" she asked.

"It's way too nice. I don't want to ruin it or get it dirty. This one's just fine for working in."

"Harper," Beka said, "I got you the shirt to wear because you desperately needed one. This one is too big and so thread-bare and patched you can practically see through it."

"Look, Boss, I appreciate it, really I do," he said, meeting her eyes for once, his expression serious. "Actually, I can't even tell you how much it means to me, but it's too special. I'll wear it when we are inside, or you want me to go places with you, so I'll look better and not embarrass you, but I'm not gonna wear it to do chores in." He stopped for a minute, as if deciding whether to go on or not. Finally, he spoke again. "I've never had anything nice or anything new before in my whole life, Beka. I ain't gonna ruin it, okay?"

"Okay," Beka agreed, seeing it meant so much to him. "When did you get up this morning?" she asked to change the subject.

"About six, I guess."

Beka sighed again. Harper's sleeping patterns would be the death of him if he kept it up, but short of locking him in his room, she couldn't make the boy stay in bed. She remembered something her dad used to say: _you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink…_

"If you insist on getting up before the sun, you are going to bed at nine tonight, Shorty. I don't care if you actually sleep, but at least lay on the darn thing and stare at the ceiling, okay? Now come in, I've saved you some food from breakfast. While you eat we'll talk about what needs doing this week." She wrapped her arm gently around his shoulders, aware he was fearful of being touched, and ruffled his hair affectionately as she steered him back toward the house.


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

(later that afternoon)

"Hey, Boss, I think someone's coming."

Beka glanced up from the wagon load of fresh, sweet hay to her hired-hand who was standing on the top of the stack they were currently building.

"You sure?"

"Well, there's a couple horses heading this way," the boy said, shielding his eyes as he peered into the distance.

"Great," Beka muttered, jabbing her pitchfork into the mound of hay still on the wagon. Of course people would be coming now, when she had hours of work left to do. She swiped her apron across her sweaty forehead. It had better not be one of those busybodies from town come out to try and civilize her. Wouldn't they just love to see her like this, her outer skirts caught up in her apron ties, petticoats exposed and filthy, top three buttons on her shirt undone, and an old bandana tied over her hair.

"Come on down, Harper," she sighed. "We might as well stop for a drink and go meet them."

Harper stuck his own fork in the top of the stack and then slid quickly down its side. "You don't think it's the Marshal come back to arrest me again, do you?" he couldn't help asking.

"Harper, he can't arrest you; you haven't done anything wrong," Beka shook her head in exasperation.

"Didn't stop him before," Harper mumbled sullenly.

"Oh, lighten up, you goof!" Beka rolled her eyes and lightly smacked him on the arm. "Besides, I'm not gonna let anyone else arrest you, okay? One bail out is enough for me. Now come on and let's see who this is so we can get back to work. We're losing daylight."

Harper followed his new boss back to the ranch house. At the pump in the yard, he gulped down a long, cool drink and then splashed water over his head and arms, washing away some of the dirt. By now, he could distinctly see two riders heading down their lane. He sincerely hoped it wasn't Bobby coming back. He had to say he hadn't been terribly crushed by the news that Mr. Bobby Jensen would be away for a week or two. Perhaps he'd actually get to heal properly for once in his life!

Beka and Harper stood together as the riders approached. Harper's heart dropped when he noticed it actually _was_ the Marshal, and he had that Trance girl with him. He moved to turn and bolt but on instinct Beka reached out and caught him by the arm.

"Steady, Seamus," she soothed. "Stick it out and see what they want. I'm not gonna let anyone take you away…" He was as jumpy as a newborn colt, this one, she couldn't help thinking with a sigh.

Harper swallowed harshly but nodded and stayed put. That didn't stop his eyes from darting around, scouting out possible escape routes should he need them.

"Afternoon, Beka," Marshal Hunt called as he rode up and dismounted, pulling his hat off. He looked almost embarrassed. Trance rode up behind him and slid gracefully from her horse. She was dressed simply, wearing a split riding skirt and a plain blouse that was once again a shocking shade of purple.

"Good afternoon, Beka, Harper," Trance bounced happily. "It's so nice to see you again!"

"You too, Trance," Beka said kindly, then her face hardened as she looked back at the Marshal. "What do you want?" she asked, her hands migrating to her hips. "We've got work we should be doing."

Dylan toyed with the hat that was still in his hands as he opened his mouth to reply, but someone beat him to it.

"Marshal Hunt came by this morning to ask me about Harper and what we'd talked about," Trance jumped in. "He told me everything that happened to you yesterday," she turned to Harper, "and I told him I thought that was a pretty rotten thing to do, throwing someone in jail and then forgetting about them when he could have just come and asked me and I would have told him Harper was my friend and would never hurt me." She paused for breath and Beka and Harper stared at her, wondering how someone could talk so much without needing air. "Anyway," she continued, "I told the Marshal he owed both of you an apology, but especially you, Harper, and since I was going to ride out here anyway he could just come along and get it over with. After all, it's very rude to lock innocent people up in jails." She crossed her arms and gazed pointedly at Dylan.

He took the hint. "I really am very sorry for all the worry I caused you," he said to Beka.

"Don't apologize to me," she said briskly. "I'm not the one who spent all night in a cell…"

The Marshal turned to the boy who was half hiding behind Beka, half trying to look brave and tough. In the light of day, his hair wild from dirt and water and his injuries dark against his skin, he looked very young.

"I'm not sure it'll mean much, but I really am sorry for yesterday, Mr. Harper," he said sticking out his hand. "Leaving you there like that for so long was wrong of me, even if I was only trying to do my job."

Harper listened to the words and stared at the offered hand in shock. No one had ever apologized to him before and then offered to shake his hand like an equal! Finally, he reached hesitantly out and grasped the man's hand. Dylan shook it firmly and Harper's face turned up in a smile.

"Aw, don't worry about it, Marshal," he said, his cockiness returning now that he knew he wasn't about to get hauled away. "Not like I ain't used to being locked up and at least you didn't do nothing to me while I was there so we're good. Just don't do it again, please?"

"Just try and stay out of trouble so I never have to," Dylan returned. He said it with a smile but Beka and Harper could both hear the warning as well. Harper gulped and Beka rolled her eyes.

"So, was there anything else, Marshal Hunt?" Beka asked, perhaps a little more curtly than she normally would but the man was starting to annoy her just a bit.

"Well, first of all, I'd appreciate it if you'd call me Dylan," he replied. "And I was wondering if I could have a word with you?"

Beka sighed. She was right. The fates had conspired to make certain she got no work done today at all. She gave in.

"Dylan, huh?" she asked. "I guess I can do that. It's a heck of a lot better than Marshal anyway. Come on inside then," she gestured, "and I'll fix us some lemonade or something. You'll have to pardon the mess, however. Due to circumstances beyond our control we sorta got a late start today," she said with a pointed look and a slightly wicked smile.

"Hey, Boss?" Harper cut in quickly. "Can I show Trance around?"

Beka knew the boy would turn around right then and stack that hay by himself if she asked him to, but he deserved a break. "Sure, Kiddo," she smiled. "Just don't go too far. We've still got lots to do today."

He flashed her a real grin then grabbed an already giggling Trance by the arm and dragged her off toward the barn, his bare feet leaving little puffs of dust in his wake. "Come on, you'll love Bob and Jenny!"

Beka laughed at the pair and shook her head. You would have thought she just told him it was Christmas. She watched them disappear into the big building then turned around and walked up the stairs.

"You coming?" she called to the Marshal from the door when he didn't move. "I'm not gonna wait all day…"

Kicked into motion, Dylan followed the feisty blonde into the ranch house.

She hadn't been lying; it _was_ pretty messy. Mending was thrown carelessly over a chair in the parlor. Wood was placed near the fireplace and the trail of twigs and bark had yet to be swept up. There were stacks of books piled precariously on the edges of the stairs. Dylan looked at the title of one: _Deadwood Dick and the Indian Outlaw_. _Dime novels_? He glanced at Beka again; who would have ever thought…

He followed her into the kitchen and noticed that the breakfast dishes were still stacked in the sink. He smiled. After Rommie and her neatness streak, this was actually rather nice. Beka was unlike any woman he had ever met before. Most women would have been rushing to straighten up the place, fussing with their hair, hastily un-tucking their skirts, especially around him. Beka did none of those things. She walked pointedly to the icebox, rummaged around inside for a bit, then pulled out a half empty pitcher of ice-tea with a shrug and set about refilling it. If she realized her skirts were still pulled up and her petticoats showing, she didn't care. She didn't even bother to do up the three buttons of her shirt that were open, showing just a bit more neck than was really proper. Dylan forced himself to look away.

All in all, Beka was quite refreshing.

And unfortunately, pretty much taken.

"So, Beka?" he asked, since he was thinking about it. "Where's Mr. Jensen?"

Her eyes narrowed and a dark shadow of something crossed her face for a few seconds. "Bobby's out of town for a few weeks, on business."

Dylan frowned. "That's rather bad timing, isn't it? How will you manage?"

"I've got Harper; we'll manage," she said bluntly and shoved a cup into his hand. She took one for herself and straddled the bench at the table. "Now, what did you want to talk about?"

Dylan sat on the other bench and placed his hat on the table. "Actually, it's Harper I want to talk to you about…" he said carefully.

"What about him? Don't tell me you still he's guilty!"

"No, not at all," Dylan hastened to assure her.

"Then what is it?"

"Well, it's just that…" he trailed off, not sure how to say it. She looked at him expectantly. "It's just… I'm worried about you being out here alone with him," he finally blurted.

"What?" she cried angrily. "Oh honestly, didn't we cover all this last night? The kid is not a criminal! His hair might be slightly on the delinquent side, and I'll admit he doesn't quite cut a civilized figure, but he's a good kid! He's not gonna slit my throat in the night or make off with all my hidden stash of jewels or something!"

"Look, Beka," Dylan said earnestly. "I'm not saying that he is. I'm just asking you to be careful and not quite so trusting."

"Dylan, I've got to be trusting. That boy has been through more crap in seventeen years than we can even imagine. He needs someone to trust."

"I realize that, I really do. And I'm not a cold-hearted jerk; I know he's been abused and neglected. I'm just saying because of that, he probably hasn't had many shining examples of right and wrong in his life. He might have picked up some bad habits along the way; things he doesn't even know are bad. And who says he won't turn violent if he feels he's been wronged or backed into a corner. In a lot of ways, he's more like a wild animal than a boy; who knows how he could react to something? I just want you to be careful and don't let your guard down too much, okay?"

Beka sighed and let her head fall forward into her hands. Her life had gotten so much more complicated since she let one scraggily boy into it. Not only did she have financial worries hanging over her head, now she had to tame a halfway wild creature. Part of her wanted to lash out at the Marshal for saying such things about the kid who had been nothing but sweet and helpful to her, but part felt guilty because it had already been thinking the same things. Still, there was something about Harper. Dylan was right that he could probably turn violent at the drop of a hat if he needed to, but somehow, she still trusted him. She knew implicitly that he would never hurt her, not even if she hurt him first.

"I appreciate the concern," she finally said, raising her head, "but I assure you Harper is not going to hurt me. I trust him and you are just gonna have to take my word on that. Besides, I am always careful and I make a habit of keeping a good guard, so you don't have to worry. As for bad habits, yeah, I'm sure he has more than his fair share of them, but he'll never learn what's wrong and what's not if no one teaches him, will he?"

Dylan didn't quite know what to say so he stalled by taking a sip of his ice-tea. He almost choked and spit it out. It was horrible! Fighting hard not to let it show on his face, he slowly swallowed and decided it was safer to speak again than to have to drink more.

"Of course he won't," he agreed. "All I ask is that you be careful and keep your eyes open, for both your sakes."

"Hadn't planned on anything different," Beka said. Dylan nodded his approval and then stared at his cup.

"Would you like more tea?"

"No, no! No thanks, I'm quite alright," he stammered quickly.

"Well, then, was there anything else…"

"Actually, I was going to suggest that you let me or one of my deputies ride out every once in a while to check on you, but then I figured you'd probably shoot me if I said it and decided to keep my mouth shut."

For the first time, Beka smiled. Dylan was mesmerized by the way it lit up her face. "Since I'm not wearing my gun and I'm too lazy to get up and get it, I'll spare you this time," she said. "But why would you want to come out here anyway? Harper and I will be fine, really."

"Well, with Bobby gone, I thought you might need the extra help, and that way I can keep an eye on the kid _and_ get to know him better so I won't go accusing him of things in the future," he said diplomatically.

"Is that the only reason," Beka said, crossing her arms on the table and fixing him with a sly look.

"No," he admitted. He cleared his throat. "Beka, I was hoping to get to know you a little better. You're an amazing woman; I admire you." There, he'd said it and he hardly stammered at all.

Beka actually blushed from surprise. No one had called her amazing and meant it for a very long time. "I…I…" she stuttered. "I don't know what to say. But, but I can't…I mean _we _can't… I'm engaged!"

Dylan smiled and held up a finger. "Ah, but that's the key word: engaged. Not married. There is no ring on your finger and therefore, you are still fair game." Dylan realized what he'd just said and hurried on before she could butcher him. "Look, honestly, I don't think much of Mr. Jensen. He's a drunk and a cad and has a mean streak a mile wide. Now I'm not saying I'm perfect, but I do think I could treat you a darn site better than Bobby Jensen and it couldn't hurt you to let me try. Besides, you get too annoyed with me, all you gotta do is punch my lights out and sling me over my horse and point it towards town. He knows the way and I'll get the picture."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over Beka: anger at Dylan for insulting Bobby, anger at herself because she knew what he said was true and tried to pretend it wasn't. She was curious, flattered, embarrassed…

"You lock my hired-hand up all night in a cell for something he didn't do, and then the next day you ride out to my place and ask if you can court me? Do they teach you these techniques in Marshal school?"

"Ah, no. That one I made up myself," Dylan laughed sheepishly.

She laughed with him but soon feel silent again. She looked away from the man sitting next to her and stared at her cup, toying with it distractedly. "I'll think about it," she finally said. "That's the best I can give you for now. _But_," she admitted, "I guess wouldn't object to a little help from you or your deputies, now and then. Harper is only a little guy and this ranch is really big."

"We'd be glad to help; it's what we're here for."

"Thanks," she said sincerely. "Now, are you sure you don't want some more tea?"

OOOOO

"Oooh!" Trance breathed, her eyes wide with delight. "It's amazing! I feel like I can see forever!" She spread her arms out and turned slowly all the way around.

Harper smiled as he watched. He'd had a feeling she'd like the view from the top of the tallest haystack. Hoping Beka wouldn't mind as long as they were careful, he'd borrowed the ladder from the barn and leaned it up against the sweet smelling pile of grass to help Trance climb up. Now he was very glad he did.

Breathing deeply, Trance sank down into the hay next to him, folding her legs Indian style. "It smells so good, just like the prairie after a rain. And it's soft and bouncy. I know we're not really that high, but somehow I still feeling like I'm on top of the world and no one can touch me. Oh, thank you, Harper, for bringing me up here!" she squealed and impulsively threw her arms around him in a tight hug.

Harper was so surprised by her actions that he couldn't stifle the small hiss of pain that slipped out as his back and shoulders protested the sudden pressure.

Trance pulled away quickly, a look of guilt and concern on her pretty face. "Oh, Harper, I'm sorry! I forgot you were hurt!"

Embarrassed, he blushed. "Aw, don't worry about it. You didn't hurt me; you just surprised me."

She studied him with a thoughtful expression for a long time. Then, slowly, she reached out with her long, slim fingers and gently brushed his bruised face.

"Does it hurt much?" she asked quietly.

Harper's first impulse was to deny it. All his life he'd lied about injuries, hid pain. Plus, he would never want her to think he was a baby, but there was something about the way she was looking at him, all concerned and pretty. He'd never had anyone look at him like that, let alone a girl. He realized he kinda liked it.

"A little," he shrugged, "but not that bad. I'm used to it."

"That was really awful, what those boys did to you. I told them so, too. And Dylan told them they all have to help put the Widow Stark's new roof on next Saturday as payment for their bad deeds. If they don't, they each get to spend a night in jail."

She meant to help him feel better, but her words really just made his heart sink. He wished Dylan had just left well enough alone. Now he knew the others would have one more thing to hold against him, one more reason to hate him and make his life miserable if he ever saw them again.

"Um, thanks," he said awkward. "You didn't have to do that, though. Now they won't like you."

"Of course I had to do that, Harper! You're my friend; that's what friends do, they stick up for each other. And besides, I don't care if they don't like me. Why would I want such mean, stupid boys to like me?"

Harper shrugged. He didn't know; he was new to this whole friend thing himself.

They were silent for a while, just enjoying the slight breeze and the never-ending prairie stretching out before them and the pure blue sky up above.

"I like it out here," Trance finally said. "It's peaceful. You can think. The town is too noisy and dusty."

"Aye, it's real nice here. Best place I've ever been, except maybe Ireland," Harper agreed. "But I can't really remember that anyway."

Trance closed her eyes and just let the sun and the smells soak into her. She was really rather tired. Last night's dreams had been the worst in a long time. They had left her terrified, but too confused to know what to do. Without realizing what she was doing, her hand drifted up and gently clutched the charm that dangled around her neck on a thin silver chain.

"What's that?" Harper's voice broke into her thoughts and her eyes popped open. He was looking at her hand that was closed around the charm.

"Your necklace thing. It's pretty. I just wondered what it was."

Trance opened her hand and held it out so he could see it better. Hanging from the chain was a beautifully carved sun, about the size of a quarter and made from pure silver. "It's a sun. It was my grandmother's, and she gave it to me before she died. She was a gypsy, from the old world, until she married my grandfather and moved to America with him. She used to tell me that of all her grandchildren, I was the most like her. We shared certain…um…traits and abilities. Anyway, she believed this was a magical charm, that it would protect me and bring me luck."

"It's pretty," Harper said solemnly, running a rough, calloused finger across it gently.

"Thanks," Trance said, tucking it back under her shirt. "I don't know if it's brought me luck, but it does remind me of her, so I always wear it." She looked carefully at the boy sitting next to her. "What about you? Do you have anything from your family?"

A wave of long buried sadness washed over Harper but it didn't last. His family had been gone for so long, he really didn't think of them as much anymore. True he missed them, but there were more important things to worry about, like survival.

"No," he said, "but I've got them in my head so I'm alright. People can take things away from you, but they can't take your memories, so it's safer that way, too."

"Harper! Trance!"

The both turned around at the sound of Beka's voice calling from the house.

"Yeah, Boss?" Harper yelled back.

"If you two want any of this ice-tea you'd better get your rear ends over here right now before the Marshal drinks it all. And if you mess up my stack on the way down, you're building the next one by yourself, Seamus Harper!"

Harper and Trance looked at each other and broke into helpless giggles for no reason. Still laughing madly, they scrambled to their feet and dashed down the ladder, racing for the cool indoors.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"Are you sure you'll be alright?"

Harper rolled his eyes. "I'm a big boy, Boss. I promise I'll be fine."

"What are you gonna do all day?" Beka asked, leaning down from the seat of the wagon.

"I still got that list of chores you gave me. Gonna see how much I can get done."

"Harper," Beka sighed in exasperation, looking down at the boy leaning against the fence, "you can't even read that list!"

"But I remember what it said!" he defended. "I'm not completely dumb…" Harper sounded stung.

Beka's face softened. "Of course you're not," she said. "Just don't work too hard, okay?"

Harper gave something that kinda resembled a nod.

"And make sure you stop sometime around noon and get some dinner, please. People generally need food to stay alive, something I think you often forget. I'll be back as soon as I find a buyer for the herd, hopefully before suppertime."

"It ain't like I'll be chained to a post in the barn this time. I think I can manage, Boss," Harper said pointedly, rolling his eyes yet again. "Now get goin' or it'll be noon before you even get outta here!"

Beka laughed and sat up straight. "Okay, see ya later, Shorty," she called as she clicked her tongue to start the team. "And stay outta trouble!"

It was only after she was several yards down the lane that she realized what an odd thing that was for a person to say, chained to a post in the barn… Apparently, Harper had let another sad fact of his life slip out, and she doubted he even realized it. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, disbelief and sadness washing over her. "Oh Seamus," she whispered, "what am I gonna do with you?"

"I'm sorry, Beka. You know I'd buy your cattle in a heartbeat if I could, but I'm not even driving my own cattle down this year," Wezlow said gently. "With this bad leg, I wouldn't cut it on the trail. I've already sold my herd, it makes no sense for me to turn around and buy another one."

Beka sighed and slumped in her chair. "I know. I'm sorry I'm being so stubborn; it's just you've bought my herd every year since my father died to save me the trouble and expense of hiring cowboys to move it myself. I guess I just never figured the day would come I'd have to have a backup plan."

"I truly am sorry," Wezlow said again, placing his hand on hers softly. "Why don't you try in town? I'm sure you can find someone anxious to increase their herd before the drive next month."

Beka stood up and smiled grimly. "Thanks, I'll do that. I'm sure it'll work out. Don't worry about me." _I'm sure the town is crawling with people anxious to buy a woman's herd of cattle for a fair price…_

Heart sinking, she climbed down Wezlow's porch steps and unwrapped the wagon reigns from the hitching post. Gathering them in her hands, she pulled herself up into the wagon seat, her thoughts far away. If she couldn't sell the cattle, she would never be able to pay off that mortgage, and then the bank would get the Maru and she would lose her home, her whole life! The Maru was all she'd ever known! Her heart and soul was planted there, in that soil; she knew she couldn't survive without it.

And the worst part was, if she lost it, she wasn't the only one who would suffer now.

'_It ain't like I'll be chained to a post in the barn this time…' _The boy's flippant, unconscious words floated to the front of her mind. _What had those people done to him?_ she thought in stunned disgust. _What had he endured? How had he ever survived it?_

And would he be sent right back to it, if she couldn't pay her debts and keep their livelihood from falling into that slimy banker's hands? How would she tell him the home she had so rashly offered him was gone, and he had to move on, alone again? She didn't even want to think about it!

With determination, she turned the team toward Andromeda. There was no way she was ever going to let that happen, not if she could help it.

"Stupid, (chop) stupid, (chop), stupid!" (Crack!)

As each word slipped from between his clenched teeth, Harper brought the ax down on the block of wood until finally, with the last swing, it split in two. He sighed and wiped his arm across his forehead to catch the sweat that kept dripping into his eyes.

"Oh, yeah, smart move, Seamus. Tell the boss all about the old life," he grumbled out loud as he placed a new piece of wood on the chopping block. "_At least I'm not chained to a post this time…_" he mocked himself. "Stupid! Like she's ever gonna trust ya now, knowing you spent your life in chains!"

With disgust, he swung the ax as hard as he could and buried the head in the wood. All he could do was hope that maybe Beka hadn't picked up on that particular slip up.

Not that he'd let his foul mood affect his work. Already he'd weeded the garden and cleaned out the stalls of the barn and the hen-house. Now it was nearly noon and the day was stifling, the sun beating down hot on the earth as he worked on the huge pile of wood that needed to be split before winter set in. With no one around for miles to witness the freak show that was Seamus Harper, the boy had felt it might be alright to give in to his body's needs in this heat and shucked off his ragged shirt and undershirt. They were draped on the fence beside him next to the small pile of split wood he'd managed to produce.

He looked at his bare skin and frowned. The bruises had faded to a sickly yellow and the cuts scabbed over, but it was still pathetic looking. Besides, nothing could ever cover the many scars. And, to make matters worse, several of the cuts on his back were infected again, the skin red and hot and oozing nasty stuff. He wished the monk would come by with more of his stinky ointment. It smelled to high heaven, but it sure made his back feel better.

Harper looked away and told himself to get back to work. He raised the ax again and the log came with it, stuck to the head. He sighed. He was used to hard work, had done this chore thousands of times, usually to the accompaniment of curses and blows, but that didn't make up for the fact that he was puny. The ax was heavy in his arms and he lacked the weight to really put behind his swings. His _brother_ had been able to split the wood clean with one stroke, something he'd always been reminded of.

In frustration, he brought both the wood and the ax back down onto the block while his thoughts continued to dwell on the morning's conversation, slowing his work even more than usual.

From the edge of the corral, Tyr watched the boy struggle with his task. It wasn't that he was a particularly interesting subject to observe, or even that he enjoyed seeing the boy's frustration, it was just that there was no one else there _to_ watch. Still, he had been watching the ranch off and on for the last two weeks, and the boy had mildly impressed him.

A pesky fly buzzed around his ear. Tyr reached out and caught it in his fist, crushing it. This game of waiting was starting to bore him. He could be infinitely patient when he needed to, but patience with no reward was foolish. It was time to get some answers.

He pushed himself away from the barn wall he'd been holding up and silently approached the boy.

"Child, if you continue at this pitiful rate, you and everyone living here will surely freeze to death before December," Tyr said without preamble when he was a few feet behind the sweaty figure. The boy jumped like he'd been shot and missed the log he was aiming for, burying the ax deep in the chopping block instead. He left it there and whirled around, eyes wide in fear and shock.

"Who are you?" he breathed, reaching frantically for his shirt to cover his abused body and tripping over the scattered sticks of wood in his haste.

"I've already seen them," Tyr said coolly, ignoring the question.

"What?" the child asked as he scrambled back to his feet and yanked his shirt down from the fence.

"The marks you are trying so anxiously to hide. I've already seen them."

The boy gave Tyr a sharp glare and yanked his ragged garment on anyway, pulling the sides together across his chest and folding his arms to keep them there.

"I said who are you?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing as he took a step back, "and whaddya want?" He reached sideways with one arm as he spoke and tugged experimentally on the ax, never taking his eyes off the big man in front of him, but the tool was stuck firmly.

"There is no need for a weapon, boy," Tyr said with a cool laugh, correctly interpreting the child's actions. "I'm not here to hurt you. Others have done that enough, I believe."

"What?" the boy asked again, clearly confused and still frightened.

"You bear the marks of slavery," Tyr explained calmly, stepping closer. "I know them well myself; I would never add to them, child. And you should not hide them out of shame; no fault of yours put them there."

"Look, Mister," the boy spat, backing right up against the fence and trying to act brave. "I don't know what the heck you're talkin' about, but this ain't your land so you'd better tell me exactly who you are, why you're here, and why the devil you were watching me!"

"Ah, but it's not your land either, so you are hardly in a position to make such demands, are you?" A slightly wicked gleam appeared in his eyes, and Tyr moved forward again, purposefully invading the boy's personal space. He slowly placed his hands on the fence on either side of the trembling boy, effectively trapping him. "And we are far from any others and there is no one to come to your aid if I should choose not to play nice, is there?"

The boy paled terribly and swallowed, his eyes darting fearfully here and there, searching for an escape and his trembling hands held before him as if to protect himself. His shirt hung open from his shoulders, forgotten for the moment, but despite the obvious signs of terror his body gave away, he tried to keep his voice even and tough. "Well, there's…um…Fred Johnson! He lives just _yards_ that way and he'd come running real quick!"

"There is no one for miles, boy."

"I'm tougher then I look!" he blurted desperately. "And even if I'm not, the Boss won't like it if you pulverize me and bury me in the shed! Believe me, you don't want her mad at you!"

For one instant Tyr leaned closer, his eyes icy cold and the boy gulped loudly. Then suddenly, the large man threw back his head and laughed deeply. He lowered his hands and backed slowly away. "Fortunately for you, I am inclined to play nice," he said, softening his voice now that his point had been made.

The boy didn't look convinced and re-crossed his arms tightly, working to slow his breathing as he glared at the gunfighter.

"For the last time, who are you?"

"Tyr Anasazi," he answered, casually stooping down, gathering up the split wood, and stacking it neatly. "Let's just say I'm a neighbor. And you are called Harper, I believe?"

"How did you know that?" Harper squeaked, real fear in his eyes.

"Is it a secret?" Tyr countered logically.

"No…it's just… Hey, what are you doing here anyways?" Harper demanded, his eyes narrowing. "Trying to steal from Beka? 'Cause I warn you, I ain't gonna let ya!"

"Fighting boredom and assuring you don't freeze," the large man answered simply. He slipped gracefully out of his own shirt and draped it on the fence, then grasped the ax and easily pulled it from the wood.

Harper looked at the strange man in open surprise and shock. First this man spied on him, then scared the crap out of him, and now he was doing his chores? But he forgot all that as he glanced at the man's back and chest, the muscles rippling smoothly as he swung the tool. Scars decorated the dark man's skin, layered on thick, much like his own. He found he couldn't stop staring.

"It appears our masters both adhered to the same school of discipline," Tyr said casually, fully aware of the boy's scrutiny. "The marks show his weakness, not mine. I'm not ashamed of them and neither should you be. Now, pick up the logs and place them on the block for me; it will speed the work along and perhaps we will finish before they start to grow mold."

Still bewildered, Harper automatically did as he was told. Following orders was still ingrained in his personality and was something he could latch onto despite his confusion.

For several minutes, they worked in silence, building a rhythm as they went. Harper would place a log on the block and Tyr would split it in one clean blow. The action was repeated until the sticks of wood were small enough to feed into the opening of Beka's kitchen stove. Then a new log was begun.

"Where is your boss?" Tyr asked for conversation's sake after several minutes had passed.

"Went into town," Harper told him hesitantly, still not sure he trusted this strange man, even if he could relate to him. "She's trying to find a buyer for the herd so it can be moved south with everyone else's next month."

"Hmmm," was all Tyr replied. "And the man?"

"Bobby the Creepo?" Harper questioned sarcastically.

"Yes, him," Tyr agreed with a slight smile.

"No idea. Said he had business and would be gone for a while." Harper had no qualms about giving away information on Bobby Jensen. After all, the man had never done him any favors…

Tyr seemed vaguely interested in that but said nothing. He split several more logs in silence before he stepped back and set the ax head on the ground, leaning on the handle and looking directly at the ragged child.

"Why do you stay when you are treated like this? What do they have on you?" he asked pointedly.

"What?" Harper's face was puzzled for a moment until understanding dawned. "No, you got it all wrong! Beka didn't do this to me!" he said quickly, gesturing awkwardly to his scars. "Other…um…folks did… But Beka's the best thing that ever happened to me! She would never hurt me."

"The man does, though."

Harper glared at Tyr, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Why do you say that?"

"It's not hard to tell. I have good eyes."

Harper crossed his arms and turned away. He realized his shirt was still hanging open from his shoulders and harshly pulled it closed and fastened the few buttons that remained on it. Behind him, the sound of wood cracking resumed. He waited several more seconds to contain his feelings before turning around to help again.

"You're wrong," he lied fiercely.

Tyr shrugged. "Whatever you say, boy."

Harper lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling, sleep far away. True to her word, Beka had started sending him to bed when the sun went down, _way_ before his body was telling him it was allowed to rest. He'd argued, begged, pleaded, but nothing worked. When she needed to, the woman could have a heart of stone. She even checked on him to make sure he was actually in the bed, under the covers. The result was he now knew exactly how many cracks there were in the ceiling, how many squares each of blue, yellow, and green there were in the quilt, and exactly how long he could hold his arms straight above his head before they went numb, but he still didn't sleep more then three or four hours a night. He just couldn't, no matter how hard he tried.

Bored stiff, he played with the rolled up sleeves of his nightshirt. For reasons he couldn't comprehend, Beka had been horrified one morning to find out he'd been sleeping in his clothes, or worse, nothing at all. Civilized people, she said, wore night clothes and as long as he was living in her house, he would, too. She'd promptly dug out the blue and white stripped garment from a forgotten drawer and shoved it into his hands. It drowned him, even with the sleeves rolled four times, and it sure looked like a dress to him, but the boss said wear it, so that was that.

At least tonight he had something to mull over in his mind: Tyr Anasazi. He still wasn't completely sure what to think. The large man had come out of nowhere, scared him to death, insulted him, goaded information out of him, angered and humiliated him, chopped his way through a pile of wood that would have taken Harper months to split alone, and then disappeared. He was still reeling when Beka came home tired and frustrated from the many rebuttals she'd received. She'd sold the herd, but she'd had to settle for far less than she wanted and it put her in a foul mood. Distractedly, she'd praised him for his hard work and cussed him for not eating. At least she'd said nothing about his rash little comment from the morning; maybe he'd escaped notice after all? He didn't have the heart or the courage to try his luck again and bring up the mysterious stranger when she was already so stressed.

And now he was wondering if he should even mention it at all? The man hadn't done anything, had helped actually. Did he really need to upset Beka with something that was probably unimportant? Or was he putting Beka and the Maru in danger by staying silent. Should he march down to the parlor right now and tell her?

Finally, he decided to wait for the morning and see what things looked like then. It wasn't worth the lecture he'd get for being out of bed, and he _really_ didn't want to be seen in this horrid dress-thing.

He sighed and wondered if bed would be more interesting if he stood on his head…

Beka sat in the rocking chair in the parlor, nursing a rapidly cooling cup of coffee. Her legs were pulled up into the chair with her, just like she'd always done as a little girl when she needed to think. Of course, she didn't quite fit as well now, but she was too preoccupied to care.

She'd run over the figures dozens of times in her mind but the result was always the same and, it was really starting to frighten her. For the first time in years, she was truly scared and wishing to be eight again and able to hide from the world in the strong arms of her papa. But she couldn't. She was grown up and he was gone and she had to face the facts; it was going to take nothing short of a miracle to get the amount of money still needed from the crops she had yet to sell.

Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let Rev know what was going on. After all, he had a bit more pull with the One who headed the miracle department…

CRASH!

Her head jerked up at the loud sound of crashing furniture that originated from the general direction of Harper's room.

"I'm fine! It's all good! Really! Nothing to worry about! I'm in bed!" a guilty voice yelled, slightly muffled by walls and floor.

Beka just closed her eyes and decided she didn't even want to know, but made a mental note that perhaps she should rethink this 'early to bed' plan. It apparently wasn't working too well…


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Harper watched his boss closely. He'd been around long enough to guess her moods and something was wrong. When he'd finally dared ask about selling the herd, she'd glossed over it and tried to sound happy, but he knew she didn't get enough. He was very good at reading people; for him, it wasn't a talent, it was a survival skill. The problem was that knowing she was troubled didn't tell him what he could do to help. So he just worked that much harder trying to make things better for her. She would praise him and favor him with that smile of hers, but he also saw how she stood back sometimes and looked at the old farmhouse as though she expected someone to whisk it away at any moment.

Yes, something was very, very wrong, and he intended to find out what.

OOOOO

Beka stared out the kitchen window, for the moment lost in thought and oblivious to the warm, afternoon sunlight that streamed in, highlighting her blonde hair and slender figure. Mr. Bobby-the-Not-So-Dependable-but-for-Some-Reason-I-Still-Love-Him-Anyways had been gone for more than a week, and even his _better qualities_ were having a hard time keeping him out of her black book.

On the other hand, that Marshal Hunt had been good on his word. Every other day, more often if he could spare it, either he or his deputies rode out to help. It galled her, amused her, and flattered her all at the same time, and while her pride smarted, she was just desperate enough to accept, especially when she caught a glimpse of her very weary, very young, very anxious-to-please hired-hand.

Still, even with the help, it was going to take nothing short of a miracle to save her home and she knew it. And, despite her friendship with Rev, she just didn't put much stock in miracles…

Absently, she wondered where she would go… What could she do? Could she take Harper with her? She wasn't sure she could support herself much less a growing boy, but she couldn't just turn him out on his own again.

But could she really leave? Could she really just walk away from this place and not look back? She loved the Eureka Maru! It was part of her soul. This house that she'd been born in, the barn, the horses that came when she called them by name… The fields, the hills, the swimming hole in the creek just over the rise… Even the henhouse, the cellar, the pig that was streaking past her window…

She did a sudden double take and watched the dignified Deputy Rhade come rushing around the corner after it and bite the dust right in front of her, insulting the poor pig's ancestry as he went down.

"What the heck?" she mumbled out loud, gathering up her skirts and yanking the door open.

OOOOO

"Mac!" Rommie yelled angrily, hands on her hips as she stood in the open gate of the pigpen, trying to keep the two large sows and their mostly grown offspring from joining Papa Pig in flight. "I told you to corner him and drive him this way, not give him a free tour of the place!"

"Rommie, that _is_ what I'm trying to do!"

"Not very well!" she called back, glaring. "Men…" she muttered under her breath. "Can't do anything right." She heard a few small giggles and risked a glance sidewise. Trance was sitting on the fence, beaming.

"Oh, you are so silly!" the girl cried, throwing her long braid over her shoulder as she laughed, swinging her legs.

"You could come help you know," Rommie suggested pointedly.

Trance looked down at her light purple dress covered by a frilly, white pinafore and shook her head. "No, I think I'd rather watch, thank you just the same."

With Rommie momentarily distracted by Trance, the other pigs decided to make their own bid for freedom. They rushed her.

"AHHHH!" the petite deputy couldn't help shouting as she jumped back out of the way and landed on her rump in the mud – mud because _of course_ it had rained yesterday. Nine excited pigs streamed past her, fanning out in all directions. One stopped and looked right at her, blinking innocently, as if to ask her what she was doing down there.

"Oh, don't you _dare_ give me that look," she breathed, grabbing clumsily for it. It squealed and ran off.

"I got the rope! Here's that rope!"

Harper dashed around the corner of the barn, roped coiled around his shoulders and trailing down his back, bouncing on the ground behind his bare feet. He skidded to a stop when he saw the empty pigpen and Rommie carefully picking herself back up. The boy glanced back and forth between the two several times.

"Um…guess I was kinda slow?"

Rommie just glared at him as she tried to brush herself off.

"Hey, Rom-doll, don't put a scowl on that pretty face. We'll catch 'em, don't worry."

Trance giggled again and Rommie's look turned to one of annoyed endurance. This kid was something else. He'd been wary of her at first, not easily forgetting that she'd helped keep him locked in a cell for a day and a night, but that hadn't lasted for long. Apparently he'd decided that the second look he got of her was much improved by the absence of the bars between them. He'd developed an immediate and acute case of puppy-love, complete with that annoying nickname _Rom-doll_. Trance had laughed, Rhade had smirked, Beka had urged her to be patient… If he wasn't such a good kid under it all and so in need of a little attention and care, she might not have been able to muster the amount of patience required… And right now was pushing even her limits.

"Harper…" she ground out between clenched teeth.

The boy gulped. "I got it. Catch the pigs. Yes ma'am. Going."

He rushed off again, swinging the rope over his head like a wobbly imitation of a lasso. At the same time, Papa Pig rounded the corner again, Rhade following carefully behind. The deputy was crouched low, tip-toeing, arms outstretched…

"Here, piggy, piggy, piggy… Come to Rhade…"

The pig wandered along, enjoying his new-found freedom, almost smug in his security. He stopped for a moment to munch on the daisies Beka had allowed to grow along the edge of the barn.

"Ah-ha," Rhade whispered, triumphantly. "I've got you now, you big boar." His arms moved slowly, opened wide, prepared…

Three of the smaller pigs and one bare-footed boy chose that moment to barrel across the barnyard, right into the deputy. Rhade pitched face-first into the pig's hind-end, who promptly squealed loudly and ran off again.

"Harper!" Rhade bellowed, pushing himself up from the dirt.

"Sorry!" Harper called back breathlessly over his shoulder. "Kinda busy right now!"

"WHAT IN THE SAM HILL IS GOING ON HERE?"

Rommie, Rhade, and Trance all turned to see Beka standing in the yard, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing. "What are you people doing to my farm!"

"Oh, Beka, it was so funny!" Trance gushed, sliding off the fence and approaching her older friend. "You see, Rhade broke the door on the pigpen because he fell into it when Rommie pushed him when he was trying to steal a kis –"

Rhade cleared his throat loudly.

Rommie blushed and interrupted. "No matter how it happened, the point is, the pigs are loose," she said quickly as the three young pigs ran through the middle of their group still chased by Harper swinging his rope and yelling at them in a mixture of two different languages. The pigs wore expressions of pure glee.

"'Scuse me!" Harper shouted distractedly.

Beka just blinked for a moment. "I can see the pigs are out," she finally said, her eyes trailing after Harper. "Thank you for that very astute observation."

"Just trying to help," the other woman muttered.

"So, are we going to stand here talking while the runt runs in circles or should we endeavor to recapture the swine?" Rhade asked pointedly.

Beka never got the chance to answer. Harper and the Three Little Pigs raced back again, this time accompanied by Papa Pig. The boy had finally managed to get the rope around the big boar's neck, but instead of capturing him, the huge pig was leading him on a merry little romp, Harper's short legs churning to keep up and the other pigs squealing in delight.

Trance, Beka, Rommie, and Rhade all scattered out of the way of the stampede, bumping into more pigs that had stopped to watch the show. True chaos ensued.

"Alright, that's it!" Beka yelled. "Get those mangy animals back in that pen right now or there will be heck to pay!"

The next twenty minutes provided years of amusement for the other barnyard animals. The horses came out in the corral to see what was going on. The two milk cows, Delores and Athena, stepped up to the fence and stared. The hens clucked loudly, the rooster crowed, and the ducks ran back and forth, flapping their wings in encouragement. After all, it wasn't every day some of their own escaped and they got to watch the humans make fools of themselves…

And make fools of themselves they did with gusto. Anyone who's ever tried to catch a pig can attest to three things: one, pigs are smart, two, pigs are very fast, and three, pigs are rather slippery with not much to grab onto… And the pigs outnumbered the humans two to one. Their minds made up to remain on the other side of the fence where that proverbial greener grass grew, they weren't going to go down without a fight!

Sensing impending messiness, Trance quickly ducked behind the tack-shed, peeking out every few minutes with wide, brown eyes. When a fairly clean, rather sweet-looking little pig wandered by and sniffed at her, she wrapped an arm around its neck and pulled it back into her hiding spot, content that she'd done her duty. Rommie and Beka grabbed a couple of pitchforks and managed to corral three of the youngsters. Together, they got them back to the pigpen, and then Beka left Rommie guarding the door again, this time armed with the pitchfork, and went back for more. Rhade decided to take on the two large sows by himself. The others could hear him all the way across the yard, muttering dire threats about pork chops and roast ham. Meanwhile, Harper, whose legs had slipped out from under him several loops ago, clung on for his life to the rope around the big boar's neck while the pig dragged him round and round the muddy corral.

Trance peeked out again and this time Beka caught a glimpse of those brown eyes. "Trance, get your purple hiney out here right now and help us!" the rancher yelled over her shoulder as she stalked two more of the half-grown pigs. The girl picked up her pig and calmly carried it over to the pen.

"There you go, little piggy," Trance said cheerfully, setting the pig in the doorway and pushing it gently past Rommie into the enclosure. Then she settled once more on her perch on the fence, ignoring Rommie's look of amazement.

"AHHHH!" Harper screeched in the background.

Rhade was still chasing the two sows, so Beka left him to it. The last three teenage pigs were proving much more difficult to catch. They'd seen their siblings go down and weren't about to be caught the same way!

"Try behind the well," Trance suggested out of the blue. Beka did and found pig number one.

"How did you…" she asked in wonder, lugging the pig back to the pen.

"Lucky guess?" Trance muttered, squirming a little.

Five minutes and two "lucky guesses" later, the last of the small pigs were back in the pen. Trance guarded the gate while Rommie and Beka stood in the center, breathing heavily and admiring their handiwork.

"So, I'm thinking we need a new gate," Beka said.

"Yeah, probably," Rommie answered.

"Rhade?" Beka asked the other woman, one eyebrow raised.

"Rhade," Rommie confirmed with a firm nod.

"Okay, now that's settled," Beka started, brushing off her hands, "I should really – "

"AHHHHH!"

Both women whirled around to find the Harper and Pig ensemble already on top of them. With a loud squelching sound, Rommie and Beka landed in the muck of the pigpen and the pig carried on, still dragging its unhappy passenger. "Ah! Stad! Stad! Stop!" the boy continued wailing helplessly at the pig. "Na dean sin!" 1

"Harper!" Beka yelled in frustration, rolling onto her back and propping herself up on her elbows.

"Oh, this is just so disgusting," Rommie muttered, flipping her hands to try and rid them of the dripping brown gunk. A snicker pulled their attention back to the gate. Rhade stood there, shoving the two sows in and laughing heartily.

"It appears you two ladies could use a little help," he said, walking over and magnanimously extending his hands to them with a patronizing smile.

Beka glanced at Rommie. Rommie glanced at Beka. The two women hadn't known each other for very long, but in that short time they had managed to become fast friends. It was nice to have another woman around who bucked the system, didn't care about convention, broke a few rules, shared the same wicked sense of humor… They smiled at each other.

"Why thank you, Mac," Rommie said, taking his left hand.

"That's very gracious of you, Deputy," Beka added, accepting his other one.

Then they yanked him into the slop right next to them.

He came up glaring.

"Oops," the two women shrugged, smiling. The deputy growled.

Rommie never even saw the mud coming until it hit her in the face.

"Mac!" she screeched, scrubbing it off with her sleeve. "Oh, that does it…" she growled.

Suddenly, the air was thick with flying mud and slop. Trance squeaked and ducked for cover behind the sparse shelter of the fence. As she moved out of the way, Papa Pig, attracted by the excitement, wandered back into the pen on his own. Within the pigpen, it was every man, or woman, or pig, for themselves.

As she scooped up handfuls of brown gunk to fling at the others, Beka couldn't help the huge smile that filled her face. She hadn't felt this good in months, no…make that years! They were acting like a bunch of kids, but she didn't care. It felt good to just have fun, be happy, to not think about tomorrow and the debts and worries hanging over her head like dark thunderclouds. For the first time in a long while she actually felt alive.

A deep, raspy chortle suddenly filled the air around them. Dirty, disheveled, and sweaty, the three combatants paused in mid throw, turning around.

Rev Bem sat on a horse at the edge of the fence, laughing so hard his robes shook. Trance stood beside him, using the horse as a personal shield.

"Oh," he wheezed, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Rebekah, child, you haven't looked like this since that time you –"

With a swift hand movement and glare, Beka cut him off. "How long have you been sitting there?" she demanded.

"Long enough to have been provided with years worth of great memories and some lovely blackmail material…"

Out of the corner of her eye, Beka saw Rhade surreptitiously trying to straighten his clothes and regain some dignity while Rommie pulled mud from her hair.

"Rev, if you weren't in direct contact with the people in charge of the list at the Pearly Gates, I'd kill ya…" Beka muttered. That just made the old monk laugh even harder.

"Um, we should probably get going…" Rommie said, stepping forward, embarrassed and trying not to show it.

"Yeah, duties in town…" Rhade said gruffly, inching toward the fence.

"Oh, no you don't!" the blonde rancher whirled on them. "Not until you fix that broken gate. If Trance is right, and I've noticed she usually is," the girl blushed, "it's your fault this whole mess started. You two ain't going nowhere yet."

The pair ducked their heads, looking strangely like guilty school children. That set Rev to laughing all over again. Somehow, that laugh was contagious. Beka tried to resist but it was useless, and soon she was laughing loudly as well. Rommie and Trance looked around at the situation and joined in. Even Rhade was smiling.

It took several minutes for it to die down and everyone to catch their breath. The trio made their way out of the pigpen, and Rhade rigged a makeshift gate to hold the animals in long enough for them to clean up a bit. The pigs followed them with baleful, disappointed eyes.

"Come in the house," Beka urged Rommie and Trance. "We can clean up in there and then get some supper ready. Rhade and Harper can make do with the pump…" Beka trailed off as she noticed how quiet it was. "Wait a minute, where's Harper?" she asked, looking around. Instantly, everyone realized the young man was still missing and they all copied her, turning around and straining to see him, but there was no sign of him. It was like he'd just disappeared.

Beka panicked. The last time she'd seen the kid he was being dragged behind a monstrosity of a pig, wailing at the top of his lungs in a language she couldn't even understand. Had he been begging her to save him, screaming in pain and she just didn't know it? And now it was dead quiet. Something had to have happened to him! Was he hurt? Had the pig trampled him? Knocked him out? What if that big brute had killed him!

"Rommie, Rhade, you two go search the barn. Trance, look behind the house in the garden. Rev –"

Suddenly, a brown, lumpy mass with two blinking eyes detached itself from the manure pile beside the barn. Beka stopped issuing orders and watched as it slowly, dejectedly, oozed its way over to the group.

"Harper?" she asked in amazement, her eyebrows climbing sky high.

The brown blob nodded slightly, hanging its head.

"Are you alright?" she asked, desperately trying to hold back the snorts of laughter as her panic turned to mirth.

The brown blob skewered her with a glare.

"Um, you're right. Dumb question," Beka agreed quickly.

"Look on the bright side, Harper," Trance said, stepping forward and trying to be supportive and not wrinkle her nose too obviously from the stench. "At least you landed on something soft…"

The brown blob sighed deeply and shook its head with evident long-suffering, letting it slump forward again. It plodded forward past them all, leaving a brownish-green trail in its wake. It only made it three steps before the group burst into renewed peels of laughter, unable to hold it back any longer.

OOOOO

The warm glow of an oil lamp filled the small kitchen, driving the shadows of night back. The door stood open, encouraging the slight breeze to creep in and draw out the heat left from the day and cooking a hot meal. With the wisp of air came the sounds of the ranch in evening, the familiar sighs of contented animals, the chirping of crickets, the haunting notes of a tin whistle. It was calm, peaceful…comforting.

"How's he doing, Rev?" Beka asked, pausing with dish and towel in hand to gaze out the door at the young man sitting on her back steps, playing the quiet music. His only clothes still drying, he had a quilt wrapped tightly around his lower body. His back and shoulders were left bare and exposed to the warm summer air, as per Rev Bem's orders, and the red scars and wounds stood out sharply against his pale skin. Beka could see them from where she stood at the sink, prompting her question.

The old monk tucked his medicines back into his worn satchel before he turned to Beka to answer. The two deputies and Trance had left an hour ago so they were alone now, and he had just finished checking the boy and treating his lingering injuries.

"None the worse for the wear from his little adventure this afternoon," the monk chuckled fondly. "A few scrapes and bruises but that's it. No need to worry, Beka."

Beka smiled at the memory and shook her head. "Good to hear, but that wasn't really what I was asking. I meant all the other…um…stuff," she fumbled, gesturing toward his bare back.

"Ah," Rev said with a twinkle, showing he had known exactly what Beka was asking but just wanted to hear her say it out loud. "All the other _stuff_, is it? Well, he's healing nicely. The bruises are fading and the stiffness gone. You can still easily count his ribs, but I'm sure you know that takes time to fix, no matter how much food you try to stuff down him at each meal. The only real concern now is how to convince him to sleep more, and of course the lash marks on his back. They remain persistently infected. I've decided to try an old Indian salve on them to see if we can draw the infection out. Whether he likes it or not, rub it on his back twice a day. I'll come again to check on you both in a few days."

Beka sighed with relief. "Thanks, Rev," she said, pulling the monk into a small hug. He blushed a little.

"Beka, you really shouldn't do that… My vows and all…"

"Oh, phooey on those. You're like a second father to me, Rev. I'll hug you if I want to," she said as she moved back again.

Rev smiled with pleasure and pride. "Well, I'd better get back to the mission. Brother Thaddeus will be getting worried, especially if he has to face the prospect of cooking supper by himself. Oh, and you might want to speak to that young man out there," he said, leaning close and whispering. "He might never forgive you for making him eat supper with everyone else, dressed only in a blanket. His face was quite red…"

She grinned. She couldn't help it. The image of him swathed neck to toes in a quilt, glaring daggers, his face bright red while he tried to manipulate a fork and not show any skin…it was priceless, even if he _was_ still grumpy with her. "There was no way on earth he was sitting down at my table smelling like that and in those clothes!"

Rev just laughed and slung his satchel over his shoulder. "Goodnight, Beka," he said, his eyes twinkling as he moved through the kitchen to the parlor and then slipped quietly out the front door.

As Beka finished drying the dishes and putting them away, the calm of evening settled once again over the kitchen. Harper's music was beautiful in its simplicity, and he played with an emotion that surprised her. She found herself humming along to the catchy tunes as she tidied the rest of the kitchen. Finally, she returned the broom to the corner and wiped her hands on her apron. Chores done, she slipped out the back door, grabbing the last cookie on her way.

"Hey, there," she said quietly, sitting down on the step next to him. He stopped his playing and immediately scrambled for the quilt, trying to pull it up over his back and shoulders, embarrassed. Her hands stopped him. "Harper, I've seen them several times now, stop being so worried. I don't care. Besides, Rev said to let them get some air." Reluctantly, he let the quilt drop back down. She could still tell he was ashamed by the way he refused to meet her eyes. "Here," she continued, holding out the cookie. "It's the last one. I saved it for you."

It worked. Harper took it eagerly, his face brightening. "Thanks, Boss! These…um…flat cakes are the best!"

Beka laughed. "Cookies, Harper," she corrected. "They're called cookies."

"Whatever," he mumbled around a mouthful of said cookie, crumbs escaping from the corners of his mouth. "They're still the best."

They sat in companionable silence for awhile as she waited for him to finish with the treat, enjoying the warm night air and the peace after a _busy_ day.

"Rev told me that if you take care of your back and do what he says, including trying to sleep a little more, he'll bring you a surprise next time…" she spoke up after a bit.

"Oh, really? What?" Harper asked, his interest piqued.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise now would it…"

"Please, Boss?" he whined, turning on all the Harper charm. Beka caved.

"Alright, but don't you dare tell him I told you. He's scrounged up some old schoolbooks at the Mission. He said he'd bring them out with him next time and start teaching you how to read."

"Oh!" the boy cried, his face lighting up. "Really? You mean it?"

"Yes, really."

"Wow…" Apparently he couldn't think of anything else to say, but then he didn't really need to. The expression on his face said it all. She watched him, amazed that such a simple thing could make him so happy.

"Sorry I embarrassed you at supper," she said after awhile, changing the subject. It broke him out of his bliss-induced stupor.

"No, you ain't," he returned with a grumble. "I watched ya, Boss. You enjoyed every minute of that."

"Okay, so maybe I did," she admitted with a shrug and a smile, "but it was funny. I couldn't help it."

Harper's face softened into a reluctant smile. "Yeah, I guess it was kinda funny… But that don't mean ya have to keep laughing at me!" he hurried to add.

"So laugh with us, Shorty. A laugh's just as good for you as it is for the rest of us, probably even better. You don't laugh enough."

He didn't answer.

"I am glad you're okay, though. I was worried that big brute had killed you for a minute," she added sincerely, ruffling his clean hair. He blushed and looked down, twirling the whistle absently in his fingers.

"Aw, don't worry. I'm fine. Ain't no hog gonna get the best of Seamus Zelazny Harper. But," he continued, looking up again, "we are gonna have lots of bacon this winter, right?"

Beka laughed loudly. "Lots and lots of bacon, and pork chops, and ham…"

"Good." He was quiet for a bit, then he looked up at her. "Boss?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I make you worry. You've been sad and worried a lot lately and I'm sorry. I don't mean to! I'm trying real hard not to do stupid things like I done before."

Beka sighed. "Oh, Harper, it's not you. You're the best help I've had around here in years."

"Then what is it?" the boy pressed. "I'm not dumb, Boss. I can tell something's bugging you."

"I've…well…I've just got a lot on my mind right now, okay? Money's a little tight and I'm worried about it," Beka stalled, giving him a half-truth in the hopes of avoiding a full explanation of the mess she was in. It was bad enough that she'd finally caved and admitted her problems to Rev; she didn't think she could handle explaining it twice in one day.

Harper frowned. "And I'm just eating your food up, staying here. I can go find work somewhere else; really I can. Maybe I could send the money back to you, to help out and pay you back for everything you've done for me… Want me to leave?"

"No, never," she assured him, ruffling his hair again before he could pull away. "I need friends just as much as I need money, probably more. You're staying, no arguing. Don't worry, Harper, we'll make it somehow."

Satisfied with her explanation for now, he fell silent again, and they sat there, soaking up the night. After awhile, Harper's fingers returned the tin instrument to his lips and he played, the notes dancing out almost without him realizing. Beka leaned back against the railing and let her eyes close, content to just listen and forget her worries for a while.

"That's beautiful, Harper," she said quietly when he paused several minutes later. "You're really good! Why haven't I heard you play before?"

He looked down at his lap, a sudden display of raw emotion on his face. "I forgot I could," he mumbled, then shook his head as he realized that wasn't quite what he wanted to say. "I mean, I forgot it was safe to play it here…"

Beka glanced at him in confusion, clearly not understanding. He sighed. "One of the ladies at the orphanage, you know the one that guy brought me to after he yanked me out of prison… Anyway, one of the ladies there gave me this whistle. I had one before, brought it with me on the boat, but it got lost or stolen or taken away when they sent me to prison, not sure which but I never saw it again. The lady, she'd seen me pretending to play one day – I used to do that a lot to kill the time in my cell – and she asked me what I was doin'," he muttered, almost ashamed to admit his childish pass-time. "Was too afraid to lie so I told her I was playing my whistle. The next day, she gave me this before we was shipped off on those trains that brought us out here. But my people, the ones that took me…" he hesitated for a second, "they didn't like me playing on it. Tried to take it away so I hid it. After that, I could only play when they were gone."

Beka smiled sadly at him. "Well, you can play anytime you want here at the Maru, provided you aren't supposed to be doing something else like working, or eating, or _sleeping_." She stressed the last word but Harper didn't even seem to notice.

"I like playing my music," he continued quietly, looking far away. It was almost like he had forgotten she was there and was talking to himself. Unconsciously, he wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned forward on his knees. "It…reminds me of things. Things I forget most of the time, you know? Like my Máthar and Da. There was this one song… Máthar used to sing it to me when I was little. I can remember the tune, but I can't remember the words…"

"Play it for me," Beka suggested softly, not wanting to break the mood. This was the most the kid had ever told her about himself, at least voluntarily.

Harper hesitated, not sure he dared share something so personal and important with her yet, but finally he raised the little flute to his lips and started to play. For almost a full minute, Beka let the hauntingly beautiful melody slip out and wrap around them, twisting and flowing in the night, like magic. Then, as if she was part of the spell, she started to sing quietly:

"_Amazing grace! How sweet the sound,_

_That saved a wretch like me!_

_I once was lost, but now am found,_

_Was blind, but now I see. _

_Through many dangers, toils, and snares_

_I have already come;_

'_Tis grace that brought me safe thus far,_

_And grace will lead me home."_

Harper's fingers stopped moving and the music died out, replaced by the stillness of the summer night. As he turned to look at his boss, tears were glistening on his cheeks, and Beka even felt moisture in the corners of her own eyes.

"That's it, Boss…" the boy breathed. "That's the one. That's the one she used to sing to me." His voice held wonder, sadness, and amazement all at once.

Tenderly, Beka placed her hand on his trembling shoulder and smiled. "My father used to sing that to me, too, when I was little. It's one of my favorites."

"Thanks, Beka, for remembering for me."

"No, thank you, Harper, for helping me remember as well."

They smiled at each other, enjoying the feeling of sharing something special that was just between them. Then Beka punched him lightly on the arm, breaking the spell. "And now you need to get your hide upstairs and into that bed!" she said, pretending to be stern. "Rev left strict orders for you to get more sleep, and trust me, you don't want to see his _righteous indignation_ if you don't do what he tells you to."

Harper groaned. "But, Boss!" he whined, the open tenderness of the moment shoved away, "I'm not tired yet! How am I supposed to sleep if I'm not tired!"

"I don't know, try counting sheep, or pigs if you'd like. But whatever you want to try, you're gonna try it from bed. Remember, no sleeping, no reading…"

"Yes, ma'am, Boss Beka!" Harper cried and jumped up, tugging the quilt more securely into place. He gave her a sloppy salute to match his lopsided grin and dashed up the stairs and into the house, the train of his quilt sweeping behind him.

Still laughing, Beka shook her head as he disappeared. Then she stood herself, stretching stiff muscles, and climbed back up the stairs. Entering the kitchen, she locked the door behind her and then blew out the lamp. As she turned to go up the stairs to her room and the comfort of her waiting bed, a line from the song drifted through her head: _I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see. _

Odd that line, sticking in her brain. Odder still that it was a very lost young boy that had reminded her of it. She wondered vaguely who the words fit better, herself or the kid…then decided that was much too philosophical a thought after a day like the one she'd just had. She shoved it aside and climbed the stairs to bed.

1. Gaelic phrases: Stad stop, Na dean sin! Don't do that! (No, I don't speak Gaelic, but my Internet does. If it's wrong, tell me and I'll fix it.)


	20. Chapter 19

_Better late than never, right?_

**Chapter 19**

"Face first?"

Beka nodded at the Marshal.

"Face first in the pig pen? Rhade?" Dylan asked again, his expression incredulous.

"Yup," Beka said, a satisfied grin on her own face as she turned away from Dylan and back to the fence they were mending.

"Rommie, too?"

"Uh huh."

"Oh, I would have paid good money to see that."

"Guess they didn't share that particular little adventure with ya, did they?"

"They probably swore each other to secrecy on penalty of death," Dylan said with a smile.

"Shame," Beka replied, grinning back.

It was a pleasant day to be outside working. Not too hot, not too cold, and Beka enjoyed the weather, if not the job. Mending fences could be boring as dirt and she found herself grateful for Dylan's company. Not only did it speed up the work, it gave her something to do to pass the time.

She still couldn't quite believe that Dylan and his friends were so willing to help her out. She wasn't used to kindness and friendship and favors. Her world had always been ruled by survival; the tough made it, the weak didn't, and she had made sure she was one of the tough ones. It was scary but also a bit refreshing to find there were people willing to care and worry about her.

"Think Harper and Trance have that wild raspberry patch sorted out yet?" she asked after a moment, secretly enjoying the conversation.

"Well, I think that depends on what you mean by sorted out. You weren't hoping to have a big crop were you?" Dylan teased.

Beka chucked her glove at him, laughing as he managed to duck in time, barely. "I don't know about Trance, but I told Harper not to eat very many, and contrary to what you believe, the kid obeys me to a fault right now. Would be a bit refreshing if I could get him _to_ do something a little sneaky and more like the boy he should still be."

"He's been giving you problems?" Dylan asked quickly, his eyes darkening slightly.

Beka sighed in exasperation, her happy mood dimming just a little. Apparently, the good marshal's opinion of her young hired-hand was still not very high.

"Not the kind of problems you're thinking of, Dylan. Can't you just give him the benefit of the doubt? He's not gonna cause trouble; he's a good kid!"

"I can't help it if I worry," Dylan defended. "I'm the Marshal, it's my job. More than that, you're a friend. But, I didn't mean to upset you, and I didn't mean to accuse him of anything. So, what _is_ bothering you about him?"

Beka gave the man a strange look, still surprised that he would actually worry about her. Then she shook her head and pushed it to the back of her mind, instead focusing on his question. "He's just still so jumpy, and so worried that if he so much as breathes wrong I'm gonna pitch him out on his head, or worse pound it out of his skin. He trusts me, to an extent I'm sure, but I don't have a clue how to make him relax. The only time I've ever seen him really act like the boy that he should be is when Trance is around, and then only for brief moments."

"He's had it rough," Dylan answered diplomatically. He knew this topic was important to Beka and wanted her to know he wasn't taking it lightly. "He was in prison when he was only eleven, Beka. Locked up in a cold, dark, stone box with hardened criminals for company. That would make anyone grow up fast, and it sounds like that was just the beginning for him."

"I know, and it makes me mad as anything to think what people did to him. I know he's no saint, but nothing can convince me he deserved even half of what he's been put through, and he won't even tell me most of it. I just wish I could get him to realize he's safe here; that we're not gonna do anything to him, other than stuff food in him and make sure he sleeps in something more than his skivvies!"

"Just give him…he's been sleeping in his skivvies?" Dylan changed course suddenly, shaking his head. "Should I even know that? Should _you_ even know that?"

Beka launched her other glove at him, rolling her eyes. Dylan caught it deftly with one hand and smiled back. "Honestly, Beka, just give him time. He's had years of abuse; I don't think you get over that in a few weeks, no matter how much you've been spoiling him."

"Hey, I haven't been spoiling him! We work hard around here, Marshal Dylan Hunt!"

"I know you do. Too hard, actually. You need to get out more, enjoy life a bit."

Beka realized suddenly that Dylan had stopped working and was staring right at her, a strange expression pasted on.

"What?" she asked, unnerved. "Have I got mud on my face?"

"No, I just…well…Beka, there's gonna be a dance in town next Saturday. I was wondering if you'd like to go. Not _with_ me as in, you know, just me, but Rhade and Rommie and Trance are going, too, and I thought you and Harper might like to come along, for fun, as our friends." The confident, sure-footed, always-right marshal was practically stuttering before he was done.

"Dylan, I…"

"Come on, just say yes. It would give you a chance to relax for a change, get to know some more people in Andromeda. Besides, Trance will be there, and Harper really needs to develop some social skills, since you are so determined to rescue the boy from the dregs of society…"

"But I'm engaged," Beka said firmly, finally turning to face him as she stepped away from the fence a little, trying to clear her mind. "To Bobby."

Dylan's eyes flashed slightly. "Yes, and I can see how much Mr. Jensen has been around to help you lately. Takes you to dances often, does he?"

Beka narrowed her eyes in return, anger surging, more because Dylan's words echoed exactly what she'd been thinking than anything else. "Dylan, just don't go there. Bobby isn't up for discussion."

Dylan sighed. "Look, Beka, I'm not asking you to marry me, or cheat on him, or even stop loving the brute. I just want you to have a fun night, with good friends, and maybe relax for a bit. That's it. You don't even have to dance with anyone if you don't want to!"

Beka turned away, facing the ranch as her thoughts whirled. Why was he doing this to her, confusing her like this? How could she even consider going? She shouldn't, she really shouldn't…so why the heck was her heart jumping around like that at the thought of saying yes to the man beside her? _Ugh!_ she thought, wanting to tug on her hair but refraining. She hated it when her feelings went all mixed up on her like this. Should she say yes? Should she refuse? Should she just deck him and get it over with?

Finally, she gave up thinking and turned around. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "I'll have to think about it."

"Fair enough," the marshal agreed, but he couldn't stop the small happy smile that filtered across his face. "But can I take that as a maybe?" he pleaded hopefully.

Beka laughed and threw up her hands in defeat. "Sure, why not. Just don't let it go to your head."

"Yes, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes and started gathering up their tools so they could go back to the ranch and check on the kids and the berries, but she froze when a sudden, horrible thought flashed across her mind.

"Hey, wait a second. Do I have to get all dressed up in some pink or purple tent with ruffles and such to attend this social shindig?"

"Well, that is the general idea, yes."

"No! Absolutely not!" she said raising her hands and backing away, panic in her voice. She turned and started marching for the ranch house.

"Beka! Come on, just try it! Maybe you'll like it!" Dylan cried, gathering up the forgotten tools and hurrying after her.

"Not for all the tea in China…"

"What if I promise no ruffles?"

"What if promise not to shoot you if you quit right now?"

"How about no pink, not even a spot or a flower?"

"Dylan, do you have vocabulary problems? Should I have Rev give you lessons when he starts with Harper? I said no!"

Dylan made one last ditch effort. "But there will be cake!"

Beka stopped and turned to look at him, holding her hands out like an imaginary scale. "Hmmm…let me think. Cake…corset… Oh, that's a tough one!" She rolled her eyes and marched on, leaving him in the dust, not pouting, because marshals don't pout.

"And you can put the tools in the shed before you leave," she called back over her shoulder, not turning around. She couldn't believe she'd almost let herself get talked into such stupidity, ribbons and bows and parading around like manikins.

"And lemonade!" she heard from behind her. Shaking her head, she ignored him and rounded the back of the house, heading for the kitchen door. _Men! They sure got some of the stupidest ideas sometimes!_ What was she thinking, letting this one get to her, just because he was kind and funny and handsom –

UGH! _Stop!_ she ordered her brain, stomping up the stairs and slamming the back door.

Trance and Harper were sitting at the table, chatting happily, and Harper jumped like a spooked colt when the door banged and his boss marched in, scrambling to his feet.

"Easy, Seamus," Beka said quickly, forcing herself to calm down. "There's nothing wrong with sitting, remember," she told him, gently pushing him back down by the shoulders. Then she glanced at the buckets and bowls and pots sitting on the table…and on the benches…and on the floor… Did she even _own_ that many containers? And they were all full of fresh, red berries.

She looked back up at Harper. His hands and shirt were stained red and even his feet were dark from the sticky, berry juice. Trance didn't appear any cleaner. Her hands were practically purple, her usually spotless white pinafore blotched and wrinkled, her hair escaping wildly from its two braids, and a dark, red, tell-tale stain around her mouth. She grinned cheerfully and waved when she noticed Beka staring.

Confused, Beka surveyed the pots one more time, then turned back to Harper. "What the… Harper, what's all this?"

"Berries, Boss."

"I know, but where did they come from?"

"We picked them, like ya said to."

"_All_ of them? How did you ever find so many?"

The boy shrugged, still grinning. "Trance is good at finding stuff. She just figured out where to look and we did."

Beka shifted her gaze back to the young girl, who simply smiled more and echoed Harper's shrug, secretive as ever.

"So, Boss, now what?" Harper asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his ragged trousers. "What you gonna do with them all? And, just so you know, I only ate a few, maybe ten, like ya asked."

Beka groaned, suddenly wishing the kid hadn't been so literal, or so good at his job. She wouldn't have minded if he ate a whole bucket or two because all those pots now represented _hours_ of work, and it was already late afternoon. But they would spoil if not made up into preserves tonight, and she did desperately need the money those preserves could bring her by selling them at the general store. The blonde woman sighed.

"Now we are in for a _long_ night."

"Yes!" Harper shouted, punching the air.

Beka looked at him, raising an eyebrow and he grinned sheepishly. "Means I ain't gotta lay on that bed staring at the ceiling for hours tonight," he explained happily.

She couldn't stop the small snort of laughter that escaped at that, shaking her head. "All right, Mr. Positive Attitude, why don't you go haul all the empty pint jars up from the cellar while I start getting stuff ready in here? Oh, and tell Dylan if he's still out there to bring in a couple more loads of wood. It's gonna get very hot in here before this night is over."

Beka was so busy pulling stuff from cupboards and the pantry while she issued orders that she failed to notice Harper's face turn deathly pale at the mention of the cellar, but Trance did. She gave Harper a knowing look, then turned to Beka.

"May I help Harper with the jars, please?"

The rancher glanced up. "Don't you have better things to do than stick around my place all the time?"

"Well, school doesn't start until October, and Uncle Gerentex doesn't like me hanging around the bank. He says I bug his customers, but I don't see how talking to people and trying to be friendly should bother anyone, but he's the grown up, so I have to listen to him. As long as I'm not in his way, he doesn't really care what I do, and helping you is a lot more fun than anything in that dusty, old town."

Beka laughed. "Fine, Harper, you and the purple girl here, go get the jars. Take the laundry basket to carry them in."

"Come on," Trance cried happily, grabbing Harper by the wrist and tugging him out the back door. "I've never made preserves before! This is gonna be fun!"

Harper followed numbly after her, trying to think of an excuse to stay out and fighting a full blown panic attack as the cellar door got closer. His stomach rose up in his throat and the grey of suppressed memories rushed in dimming his vision. When Trance put her hand on the latch, pushed it open, and started pulling him in, he thought he might actually be sick. Then abruptly she stopped on the stone steps that disappeared down into the darkness.

"Did you hear that?" she asked, looking around intently.

Harper shook the remembered horror from his mind and pushed away from her and the door, backing up several steps. "What?" he asked shakily.

"Do you hear that noise? It sounds like someone is hurt, or crying!" she said, her face clouding with concern.

Harper forced himself to listen carefully. Then he heard it; a quiet, intense growling laced with an even softer sound like someone or something crying.

"It's coming from over there!" Trance cried, pointing behind the barn. "Come on, Harper, we gotta help!"

She grabbed his sleeve, tugging him forward again, and this time he didn't hesitate to follow. Anything to get away from that cellar. Besides, he could hear the crying now, getting louder, and he wanted to know what it was.

Together, the two young people raced across the farmyard and to the large barn on the far side, but as they started around the corner of the back wall, Harper heard a new sound, one that he recognized and put his nerves on edge: a harsh rattle. He jerked to a stop and quickly threw his arm in front of Trance, stopping her.

"Go slowly and carefully," he whispered with a deadly serious look, moving in front of the girl, "and stay far back behind me."

The telltale rattle came again, louder this time, as he stepped around the last corner, keeping his eyes peeled at the ground by his bare feet and his arm across Trance's waist to make sure she didn't rush past him.

The snake was about ten feet away and it was a big one, even when coiled, and clearly very angry. Facing it was a small, pathetic-looking female dog. She stood on wobbly legs, dirty, sick-looking, and half-starved, but she growled deep in her throat and barred her teeth at her attacker.

"Oh, no!" Trance cried and Harper glanced back to see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. Just then the snake lunged at the dog, which dodged out of the way just in time, but for some odd reason stood her ground and refused to run.

"Harper, we gotta help her!" Trance breathed. Instinctively, Harper reached for the small knife he kept in his pocket only to remember Beka still hadn't given it back to him. He cursed under his breath, but then remembered the pocketknife Beka kept hanging in the barn for cutting twine and rope with.

"Stay here," he told his new friend, forcing her to look in his eyes. "Don't get any closer or you'll only make it come after you or upset it more." Once he was sure she would do as he asked, he turned and sprinted for the barn as fast as his filthy feet would go. Inside he wasted no time in grabbing the small weapon from its nail and pounding back out the door.

Trance was sobbing quietly when he ran toward her again, and her cries had attracted Dylan and Beka's attention. The two adults were quickly coming toward them, and Harper figured they could clearly see the knife in his hand as he flipped it open, but he didn't care. The little dog was tired and faltering and couldn't wait for him to ask permission to touch the weapon.

He was still a good ten feet away when the snake reared back and lunged once more. In a flash, Harper aimed and threw the knife with practiced force. Striking true, it buried itself in his target, but it was already too late.

Trance let out a strangled scream and rushed to the little dog's side just as the poor creature collapsed roughly on the ground, whimpering. Harper followed, careful not to look at the dead snake with the thin knife protruding from its head just feet away.

"Oh, Harper, we were too slow. That nasty old snake bit her anyways," she cried, pointing to the bleeding puncture wounds in the dog's heaving side.

"Trance, we were too late to begin with," Harper told her, finding at least three other bite marks on the dog's skinny body. As he spoke, the little dog looked up at him with mournful, pain-filled eyes, and the boy met them with his own. Ever so gently, he settled himself in the dust next to the dying dog and began to stroke her head and ears, uttering soft words in his native language.

"Can't we do anything?" Trance asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"No. She's too weak and sick to fight off the poison," Harper explained sadly.

Before he could say anymore, Beka and the Marshal arrived on the scene, both giving him funny looks. Dylan kicked the snake off to the side and after making sure it was really dead, retrieved the knife while Beka crouched down next to Harper who was still stroking the little dog.

"She's in pain, Harper. We should probably end it for her," she told him gently while she reached out to squeeze Trance's shoulder supportively.

"No, don't," Harper replied softly. "Let her be; she's almost gone anyway." And he was right. Not even a minute later, the little dog drew in a last breath and lay still.

And in the silence that followed the four people realized that not all the little whimpers and cries had stopped.

"Oh, look, it's a little puppy!" Trance cried, scooting over and reaching under a bush just behind them. She pulled out a trembling ball of fur no bigger than her shoe. Wondering if it was alone, she searched quickly around the bush but found no others; just the one little pup with dirty, blondish fur that stood up every which way. "That's what she was trying to protect," the girl said softly, glancing at the mother's still form. "And now the poor little thing is all alone!"

Dylan stepped forward and eyed the little runt of a mutt with a knowing eye. "I think he's old enough to be away from his mother, if only just barely. You should take him home, Trance."

"Oh no, I can't. My uncle doesn't like animals. He would only get rid of him again." She held the puppy carefully out to Harper. "I think you should keep him. You saved him; you're the one he's supposed to belong to."

Eyes darting skittishly back and forth between Trance and his boss, Harper reached out with hesitant longing and took the little ball of fur, rubbing him softly with one finger.

"See, he even looks like you, Harper," Trance said, sounding a little happier. "You have the same hair."

"Now wait just a minute," Beka said firmly, deciding it was time to step in and retake control here. "I don't want that scrawny, little thing around, chewing on things and making a mess!"

"Please, Boss?" Harper worked up the courage to ask softly, his voice laced with pleading.

"Harper," Beka sighed with exasperation. The last thing she needed was another mangy mutt to look after on her ranch; one was bad enough. She was not gonna become the stopping place for all lost strays and orphans! She had enough to worry about on her own!

She opened her mouth to tell her hired-hand just that, but the words died on her lips as she looked at him. He was cradling the pup to his chest, arms holding it gently as his rough fingers lightly brushed its dirty fur. That in itself was a rather touching picture, but it was the look in his eyes that stopped her. His eyes were filled with softness, and peace, and pure joy; expressions and emotions she hadn't been sure she would ever manage to see in those too-sad wells of blue. If she had to put up with a little runt of a dog around, yapping at her feet, just so she could keep the happiness in those eyes, so be it.

"Alright, but remember, he's your responsibility, Seamus," she said, standing up. "He makes a mess, you clean it up, okay?"

'Thanks, Boss," Harper said, a real, genuine smile splitting his face. Beka couldn't help smiling back.

"Look, you two take the pup up to the house and make him a bed. Put a little milk on the stove to warm and we'll see if we can get him to eat something, and while it's heating go get those bottles like I asked you to. We've still got lots of work to get through today, but the marshal and I can finish up here," she said kindly. She knew Harper would be able to handle helping to bury the dog and dispose of the snake, but Trance had seen enough for the day.

They both nodded and headed for the house, Trance already gushing over their new playmate.

"He's so cute, Harper. Look at his little nose! And his ears! Oh, what are you gonna call him? He has to have a name, you know…"

As they walked away, Dylan moved over to stand next to Beka. With a pointed glance, he handed her back the closed knife.

"Did you see that?" he asked bluntly, indicating the knife and the snake.

"Yes, I saw it."

"Not a bad throw - took some skill and practice. Still believe he's perfectly harmless?"

"I never thought he was harmless, Dylan."

"So tell me why this doesn't worry you, because it sure worries me!" Dylan exclaimed, running a hand through his hair.

Beka sighed and crossed her arms. "It does worry me. Worries me a whole lot, wondering just exactly what he's capable of doing and has done in the name of survival. But did you see his face as he sat by that dog as it died? Or the look in his eyes as he held that puppy?" She stopped and turned to face him, staring intently at his face. "_That_ was not the look of a killer, or a hardened criminal. That was the look of a lost, little boy, Dylan, and I guess I've gone soft but I just can't turn my back on that. If you can't see that for yourself, you'll just have to trust me on this; he's not gonna hurt me, or any of us."

"Okay," Dylan said, throwing up his hands in surrender. "I trust you. Just please don't prove me wrong."


	21. Chapter 20

Thanks for being patient! I've been moving, but still living in both places, and my computer is often in a different state than I am. Thanks again for reading!

**Chapter 20**

Back in the kitchen with Trance, Harper could hardly believe what had just happened. He was sad that he hadn't been able to save the mother dog, but as he held the trembling, little puppy in his arms he felt a thrill of happiness and disbelief shoot through him. _He had a pet of his own! _This tiny puppy was his! Beka had let him keep it!

The small animal whimpered weakly and licked Harper's fingers. He smiled back gently, rubbing its soft fur. He remembered several litters of puppies born on the homestead; how they had nudged at him and licked his fingers just like this. How badly he had wanted one of them, something to keep and love and that would be all his own, something that would never hurt him, or belittle him. And he remembered how each time he had clenched his teeth and fought back tears, generally hating the world and everyone in it, himself included, when he had been ordered by his "father" to put the helpless pups in a sack and drown them in the watering trough. _Blasted runts, always in the way and eatin' me outta house and home_, the man had raged, leaving Harper no doubt the little puppies weren't the only things being spoken of. It had killed him inside, but he'd had no choice but to obey, not if he wanted to avoid as much pain for himself as possible. He vividly remembered the one time he'd tried to hide one away and been caught…

So when Trance had discovered the puppy just now, he'd been afraid that Beka would order him to do the same thing; do away with it as a nuisance. Instead, she had let him keep it! It almost blew his mind, but also made him happier than he could ever remember being.

Smiling with pride and joy at his small pet, Harper stuck a shallow pan on the stove and managed to pour an inch of milk into it without spilling it or having to put his puppy down. He hadn't known of its existence fifteen minutes ago, and now he was reluctant to let the little thing go, even when Trance came out of the pantry with an old towel folded up in a wooden crate.

"Come on, Harper, set him in it so he can see if he likes his bed," she urged excitedly, placing the crate in a safe, out-of-the-way corner of the kitchen.

The boy did as she asked, but he couldn't bring himself to move away. He stayed crouched next to the make-shift bed, watching as the rather dirty puppy sniffed hesitantly around and ready to snatch his pet back up at the first whimper.

"See, he loves it," Trance soothed, crouching down next to him. "He's gonna be just fine now, with you to take care of him." She gave Harper a wide, friendly smile and patted him on the arm. "Good thing we went out there when we did, isn't it?" she added.

Her tone made Harper glance at her strangely, but her face showed only innocence and honesty, so he let it drop. "Yeah, I guess it is," he replied. Trance mentioning their original trip outside had reminded him of the job Beka had given them that still needed to be done, and he felt his good spirits crumble quickly.

His friend rose to her feet, pulling him up by the sleeve of his ragged, berry-stained shirt. "Let's go get those jars for Beka quick," she said, as if reading his thoughts. "The puppy will be alright here for a minute and we won't be gone long. Then when we get back the milk will be warm and you can feed him."

Trying not to show how truly frightened he was, Harper let the girl pull him outside and over to the cellar where the abandoned clothesbasket lay waiting for them. Once again, Trance opened the door and the dark cave yawned before him. He gulped instinctively and could feel his body breaking out into a cold sweat as the cool air washed over him.

With thoughts of the furry pet waiting for him to keep him focused, Harper closed his eyes and willed his courage to surface. _Come on_, he mentally chided himself. _It's just a dark hole in the ground. Nothing down there to hurt you. It's not even the same one. _Sucking in a deep breath, he opened his eyes and rushed down the steps after Trance.

Ten excruciating minutes later, he was back in the kitchen with her, unloading every empty bottle they could find on the shelves of the cellar from the basket. He felt like he'd just run a mile or two as he stood on his shaky legs, but he'd made it in and out without a panic attack, which was saying something.

Just as he set the last jar on the table, the little puppy let out a plaintive whimper. Harper was at its side in an instant, scooping the helpless creature into his hands and holding it close, gently rubbing its fur. He stood with it still in his arms and walked over to the stove to retrieve the warm milk. Placing the pan on the table, he sat on the bench and dipped a finger into the warm liquid. Then he let the little dog sniff it, and after only a few tries he had the puppy hungrily sucking the milk off his fingers.

"Poor little thing sure is hungry," Trance observed softly, sitting down next to him and staring at the puppy with kind, brown eyes.

"Probably ain't ever had much to eat," Harper answered. "Its mother was too starved herself to be able to feed him right." If there was something Harper understood instinctively, it was hunger. It had framed and shaped every single season of his life until a few weeks ago.

"So, Harper?" Trance asked brightly, watching as the puppy started to drift off to sleep in Harper's arms, comfortable and safe with its belly full of warm milk. "What are you gonna name him? We can't keep calling him an "it"; that's just not very nice!"

"Woody," Harper replied. He'd known what he would name the animal from the moment Beka said he could keep him; he just hadn't been able to think how to bring it up.

"Why Woody?" Trance inquired curiously.

"Had a good friend named Woody once. He's dead now, but he would have liked a puppy." His eyes clouded over with memories as he spoke, and Trance could tell there was much more to that story than Harper was giving, but she also knew now was not the time to ask. Maybe someday…

"I think Woody is a great name for a puppy," she told him with a bright smile. "Will you let me come and play with him sometimes?"

"You can play with him anytime ya want. I wouldn't have got him if it weren't for you."

"Yes, Woody is a grand name for the nice, annoying little mutt," Beka butted good-naturedly into their conversation as she came through the open doorway with an armful of firewood. "Now put the little thing some place safe and let's get busy, you two! These berries won't can themselves," she added, dropping her load into the woodbox as Dylan followed her into the kitchen with a second load. "It's gonna be a long, hot night."

OOOOO

Tyr Anasazi strolled down the boardwalk of Andromeda in the gathering twilight, deep in thought. He was growing tired of this waiting game. Two weeks of watching the ranch had yielded nothing except the somewhat enjoyable opportunity to watch the Marshal make a fool out of himself pursuing the female rancher, and the less pleasurable chance to observe the Marshal and his deputies bonding with the woman and the child. While all that wonderful friendship building might fill him full of "warm fuzzies," it did nothing to further his purpose and was growing insipidly and nauseatingly tiring. The boy, Harper, at least was thriving from the continued absence of one Bobby Jensen, and most probably also from a sudden abundance of food, but Tyr needed the brute to come home if he was ever going to get anywhere.

It wasn't that he actually had to wait for Jensen. Gerentex's "orders" were superficial to his cause and only to be followed if they fit his personal agenda. He could move on Sid any time he wanted and exact his revenge, but he felt like biding his time, watching the man squirm. And Jensen annoyed him. The man was inferior and abusive and undeserving of the air he used. He found himself wanting to walk up to Beka's door and inform her of what a weakling she was keeping around, but he didn't. Still, it wouldn't hurt to make sure he knew exactly what the man was up to and how he fit into all this before proceeding, and if it worked out without complicating his plans too much, maybe tip the woman off. It was foolish to go into a situation without knowing all the variables. Besides, weapons and money harbored for trade to slavers could just as easily be sold to abolitionists, if they were to be, for example, intercepted. Helped a better cause and who was he to turn down good money.

Tyr smiled to himself at that thought as he passed in front of a darkened shop. Up ahead, the bawdy music from the saloon spilled out into the night, enticing. He knew from experience that a lot could be learned from sitting quietly and unobtrusively in the smoky corners of the local water-house, and a cool drink would be appreciated as he mulled through his thoughts. Moving as though that had been his intent all along, he turned toward the saloon but stopped when he saw Gerentex walking in. Tyr had no desire to speak to the weasely little man tonight, to be annoyed with stupid, nagging questions.

Pausing again, Tyr glanced across the street in frustration. There weren't many places that would let him casually enter and linger without drawing stares and whispers if not outright hatred, and he really would like that cold drink. Then his eyes landed on one of the newer buildings on the other side: Madame Doyle's Bar and Bordello. He'd never entered it before, but there were no blatant signs declaring he couldn't, and from the look of it, it promised to have cool drinks if nothing else.

Mind made up, Tyr strode across the dusty road as though he owned it and pushed open the swinging door.

OOOOO

The tall, blonde woman glanced up from the table she was clearing when she heard the door swing open. She didn't usually; unlike most of the other girls that worked and lived there, she didn't feel the need to flaunt herself at every male that entered, vying for their attention. Nor did she feel the need to act coy, or stand and giggle in groups, or bat her eyelashes seductively. She was good at her job, none of her customers ever complained, there was no need to make a fool of herself. She was perfectly happy tending the bar to make those extra coins needed to stay alive, rather than throw herself at every bit of riffraff that came in off the streets just to survive.

But something about the man that just walked through the doorway drew her attention, despite her usual routine. She knew him by name and reputation only, but that didn't matter in here, and he certainly fit the ideal the other girls talked dreamily about; he was tall, he was dark, and he was undeniably handsome.

This man was definitely _not_ riffraff, despite the reputation he had managed to gather.

Not that the other girls could see that…

"Who let him in?" Jane sneered, the grease-paint caked on her face to hide the wrinkles cracking just a little.

"Madame Doyle should do something about that," Millie agreed, scrunching up her pretty, button nose.

"He won't be touching me, that's for sure. I do have my priorities," Evangeline said with a shudder.

"Well, I'm not waiting on him either," Jane agreed.

Surprising herself, the blonde woman spoke up. "Good. Because I want him," she said with a smile, leaving no doubt that the double meaning of her words was intended. She picked up a cold bottle and walked over.

He watched her approach, his eyes cool and guarded, but not necessarily hard. She leaned one hip against his table and placed the bottle in front of him, matching his stare.

"I haven't ordered yet," he said after a moment, his voice slow and smooth.

"I know," she replied, still meeting his eyes.

"I only came in for a drink."

"We can start with the drink."

"People will talk."

"Let them, it keeps them occupied."

The man smiled at that and she noticed he had very nice teeth. She also took it as an invitation, pulling him to his feet by his sleeve. He didn't resist.

"You're bold, even for a woman of your occupation. I appreciate a woman who knows what she wants, and I'm not opposed to the pleasure myself, but think carefully. The people in this town will not approve, me choosing a woman like you."

"Oh, but you didn't choose me," she answered. "I chose you."

At that he actually laughed. "That you did, my lady, that you did. May I ask your name, so that we may be properly introduced?"

"Freya. Now, if you'll please come with me, Tyr Anasazi…"

OOOOO

Beka pushed her limp, sweaty hair off her forehead as she stirred the sticky, bubbling mess in the pot. Through gritted teeth, she counted the last remaining minutes off before moving the pot of boiling jam off to the edge to cool slightly. She then sighed wearily and stretched her aching back, before turning to glance at the far corner of the kitchen.

The sight made her smile, despite her exhaustion.

Harper was curled in a ball on the floor, puppy cradled protectively in his arms, and both were sleeping soundly, in spite of the heat. He looked so peaceful and so young, lying there with his pet, his dirty, bare feet half in the empty bucket he'd been washing raspberries in only an hour ago. Trance and Dylan had left long before, but Harper had doggedly kept going, running, fetching, stirring, etc., until his body had finally overridden his stubbornness and sleep caught up with him. She'd needed the help, but he needed the sleep even more, so she'd left him, but now she had no choice but to wake him up. The animals still needed tending to for the night, and she couldn't leave the jam to do it.

"Harper," she called softly, gently shaking his shoulder. "Harper, I need you for a minute."

Harper flinched harshly at her touch. His eyes sprung open and he was instantly awake, cowering back into the wall and trying to make himself as small as possible. His sudden movements woke Woody the pup as well, who started to whimper.

"Hey, kiddo," Beka said quickly, holding her hands non-threateningly in front of her, her heart breaking at the instinctual fear she saw reflected in those clear, blue eyes. "It's just me, Beka. I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise."

After a short moment, Harper's eyes cleared with recognition, and he sat up quickly, embarrassed.

"Sorry, thought you were someone else…" he mumbled, stroking Woody to calm them both down. "Didn't mean to fall asleep, Boss."

"Not a problem, you needed the rest. In fact, I'd have left you asleep, but the stock still needs feeding and then everything needs to be closed up for the night. I can't leave the jam right now. Think you can handle that on your own?"

The boy smiled cheekily. "Is my name Seamus Zelazny Harper?"

"Are you seriously willing to admit to that?" Beka teased back, holding out a hand to help him to his feet. She frowned when she saw him wince slightly as the skin on his back stretched, and made a mental note to fetch Rev again tomorrow, but chose to ignore the obvious for the moment. "Here," she added, holding out her hands once he was up, "leave the dog here with me. I promise I'll look after him and you will do your chores a whole lot better without a wiggly puppy to hold onto."

"Aw, Boss!" Harper whined. "But I was gonna introduce him to Deloris and Athena."

"They'd probably squash the runt before they knew it was there."

"He's not an _it_, Boss. He has a name," the young man stressed, a Beka sensed the subject was strangely important and sensitive to him.

"Sorry," she apologized. "You're right. Now _Woody_ will be just fine in here, sleeping in his box while I finish the jam. But if I stand here talking with you much longer, it just might petrify so go on and git!" she said with a friendly swat to the back of his head. He grinned and jumped nimbly out of her way, then stuck his tongue out at her before dashing out the back door. Beka laughed and rolled her eyes, then held Woody up and looked into his face. "What would _you_ suggest I do with that boy?" she asked.

Woody just closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

OOOOO

Harper smiled to himself as he refilled the hens' empty water pail. All around him in the dark, the birds clucked at him with annoyance, disgusted he would disturb their sleep at an hour such as this. When a huge yawn forced its way out of his own mouth, he couldn't help smiling even more. It wasn't unusual for him to feel tired, or more likely, exhausted to the bone, but for the first time in his life, he wasn't feeling guilty about it. He'd worked hard today and enjoyed it. He had a new pet all his own; his stomach was full, he had a soft bed waiting for him, and a great boss who would insist on him using it. Life just didn't get any better than that!

In the dark, he stumbled slightly and banged the metal bucket against the wall. The quiet clucking rose sharply to an indignant squawking.

"Aw, hush, ye old biddies!" Harper muttered rubbing the toe he'd stubbed. "I'm leaving, I'm leaving!"

He exited out into the moonlight and latched the door behind him. Swinging the bucket slightly and humming a jig under his breath, he was in good spirits as he made his way to the barn to put the pail away and make sure Deloris and Athena were safe in their stalls for the night.

Those good spirits crashed quickly when he turned the corner and saw the barn door was open. Instantly, his instincts kicked in and he went on guard, silently slipping inside the dimly lit building.

A small wagon was parked in the open middle of the barn, filled with hay. Harper frowned. Why would someone come out to the Maru in the middle of the night just to park a full wagon of hay in the barn? Then something glinted in the lantern light at him from under the hay. Wary, but curious, he crept over and pushed the grass back. A stack of wicked looking rifles gleamed brightly, and he sucked in a quick breath, his heart quickening. Frantically, he searched through the hay, caution abandoned. His efforts produced two more piles of weapons, several barrels of gunpowder, and at least five crates of supplies, and that was just what he could reach at the edge without climbing up on the wagon.

He was beyond curious and confused now, he was panicking. He had no idea what this was for, or what was going on, but whatever it was it had to be bad, and he was sure Beka needed to know about it. He turned to run back to the house just as a big, beefy hand clamped down on his shoulder with bruising force. Another one snaked out of the blue to cover his mouth and smoother the scream before it could leave his lips.

"I knew you were gonna be trouble, right from the moment I saw ya," a voice hissed in his ear. His eyes widened in alarm and recognition.

"That's right, boy, I'm back, and the cushy life of having Beka wrapped around your finger is over, too." He squeezed harder on his sore shoulders, Harper's struggles to get away only making Bobby angrier.

Out of desperation and a need for oxygen, Harper bit Bobby hard on the hand. With a curse, the big man flung him to the ground, and he wasted no time in scrambling to his feet and for the door.

A painful blow to the back stopped him and knocked him on to the ground before he could even reach the first stall. Once again, he went down gasping as the still tender flesh on his back cried out in protest. Bobby was seething, madder than an angry hornet, and he had no choice but to curl in a ball and let the blows rain down, hoping it would stop soon. Despite the pain, he was still coherent enough to notice Bobby avoided areas that would leave bruising Beka, or anyone else, could see. This beating was meant to be a secret between the two of them.

After a few minutes, it was over, and Harper found himself hauled to his feet once more, but this time was different. This time the cold bite of sharp steel met him as Bobby held him firmly, pressed close to the soft skin of his neck.

"You listen to me, boy," he growled, menace and hate lacing his voice. "I'd like nothing better than to dispose of you right now and dump your sorry carcass for the vultures to pick clean. You're poaching on _my_ territory, messing with what's rightfully mine, but Beka's taken a shine to you and she'd ask uncomfortable questions, questions I'd rather not deal with right now. On the other hand, with your sneaky, thieving ways, you've managed to uncover something no one was ever meant to see. So, here's the deal. You forget everything you saw here tonight. Everything! Including the fact that I ever touched you. You do that, and I'll let you live. But if you ever breathe a word of what you just found to anyone, I'll kill ya, and I'll hurt Beka as well. So it's up to you, her safety is in your hands. Got it?"

Seething inside with helplessness and rage, Harper nodded carefully, painfully aware of the knife at his throat.

"And you also understand that it's my right to treat you as the trash you are, so no running to Beka, or that monk of hers, with tales of woe and how Bobby's been being mean to you, or beating you."

Harper nodded again, teeth gritted.

"Good," Bobby said, releasing him slowly. As soon as he was able too, Harper pulled away and put a few yards between them. "Glad we understand one another then. Now, you go in and you'd better put on a darn good act when I surprise Beka in a few minutes! Remember, boy, your life and hers depend on it."

Shaking from more than just fear, Harper dragged himself from the barn, aching all over his body, but mostly in his heart. What would Beka think of him, hiding something like this from her? How could he not? He could never risk Beka's life, not after everything she'd done for him. In the past, he would have just taken off, but now he found he couldn't. He'd come to care about Beka and the Maru, and he couldn't just leave them to Bobby's intentions. He just hoped his boss could protect herself, and could somehow protect Woody from Bobby's wrath as well, even if she couldn't save him from it. He didn't know what he'd do if the brute decided to hurt his puppy, too.

Feeling lost and scared and more worried than he had ever been in his life from the responsibility of other lives depending on his actions, Harper scrunched up his eyes and willed himself not to cry as he climbed the steps. Then he slipped on his best poker face and entered the kitchen, trying not to wince with every step.

OOOOO

"Beka, baby, I'm home!"

Beka looked up in shock as the back door burst open and the burly, handsome frame of one Bobby Jensen strode through. All righteous anger and indignation she felt toward him for leaving so long melted away as he placed a big kiss on her lips.

"Mmm, that's nice," she smiled.

"Miss me?" he teased, his eyes glinting playfully.

"More than you can know," she responded, allowing herself to get lost in those gorgeous eyes.

"Let me make it up to you then," Bobby offered, wrapping his arms around her.

Smiling, she pushed away. "Not for another half an hour," she said firmly. "Gotta wait for this last batch of jam."

"Aw, who needs jam at a time like this. Let the runt finish it."

A thread of her former worries and annoyance crept back into Beka at his words, and she frowned, glancing toward Harper and hating that Bobby talked about him like that, right in front of him. The boy was gathering up the box with his puppy in it, moving slowly and purposefully not meeting her eyes. He looked utterly exhausted.

"No, I told him to go to bed. He's worked hard and he needs the rest. Besides, you've been gone for more than two weeks, what's another half an hour to wait?"

Feeling sickened, Harper took that as his cue to leave and quickly hurried from the kitchen and up the stairs to his room, puppy gripped tightly in his arms. Beka was glad Bobby hadn't noticed the newest addition to their little family yet, sure it wouldn't go over with a great success, but they'd cross that bridge in the morning. Besides, it didn't really matter. It was still her ranch and she had the final say.

And then she didn't think any more about boys and puppies and bridges. She was too distracted trying to stir her jam while Bobby planted soft kisses along the base of her neck.


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Harper didn't sleep much that night. One reason was that Woody needed to be fed every few hours. The puppy wasn't nearly as fond of the cold milk as he had been of it when it was warm, but Harper didn't dare creep downstairs to the stove to heat it up, so he just patiently kept at it until Woody swallowed enough and fell asleep again. The boy was almost envious of the content puppy. Harper's body ached pretty nearly all over from the beating Bobby had given him, but that was only part of his trouble falling asleep. He was no stranger to sound beatings and had lots of experience sleeping through pain. No, it was his thoughts that kept him from sleep this time. They were troubled and confused, and he simply didn't know what to do.

His instincts were screaming at him to run, get out of there, but his heart was confused. The Eureka Maru was the closest thing he'd had to a home in as long as he could remember. Beka treated him like an actual human being. More than that, she really seemed to care for him, and Harper realized that he cared for her, too. He didn't want to lose all that.

And where would he go? Back to his "family?" He shuddered at the thought. Or back on the run, wandering from town to town, farm to farm, hoping desperately for a place to stay when it rained or grew cold and praying for more than two or three meals a week. His heart sank even considering it. Putting up with Bobby and his abuse was better than that; at least there was Beka and her goodness to balance it out.

But if he stayed, what should he do? He really felt Beka needed to know about Bobby and what he was up to, _whatever _it was he was up to, but he had no idea how serious the man was about his threats. He was willing enough to pound on Harper, but would he really follow through on his threat to hurt Beka? Could Harper risk it either way?

Still, his head and heart screamed, he really thought Beka needed to know, and he was going insane trying to figure out what he should do.

Finally, when the darkness outside his window started to lighten slightly, Harper made up his mind. He left Woody sleeping peacefully in the rumpled quilt on the bed and crept silently out of his room. He didn't dare light a candle, so he felt his way carefully down the hall toward Beka's door. He was determined to talk to her before Bobby woke up, but as he turned the corner a rough hand grabbed his shoulder while another covered his mouth, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, he found himself at Bobby's mercy because he let his guard down. He cursed himself soundly as Bobby practically picked him up and bodily dragged him to the barn.

It was fully light and Beka was awake by the time he slipped back into the kitchen, moving rather slowly. Hidden under his ragged shirt, six fresh welts stretched across his scarred back and shoulders, compliments of Bobby's leather belt, and he now had no doubts about the extremely painful death he would receive if he ever thought of telling Beka again, a death that would only come after watching Beka suffer. Bobby had also been so terribly kind in helping him choose between his options, letting him know that if he figured this whole situation was too hot and decided to bolt, the bigger man would come after him and make sure he ended up somewhere where he could never, ever tell anyone what he'd seen.

In other words, Harper was well and truly stuck, just like he always had been. Knowing that hurt almost more than the welts and bruises did.

Hanging his head, he carefully wiped his bare feet on the rug at the door, then crept quietly into the bright, sunlit kitchen. He noticed Woody's box next to the stove and hurried over to it.

"He was crying when I got up, so I brought him down with me. You probably shouldn't leave him alone for quite so long," Beka said, looking up from the eggs she was frying as her hired-hand approached.

"Sorry," Harper murmured, bending down slowly and gathering his pet up in his arms.

"Not a problem, I didn't mind. Just wanted you to know. So, chores done?"

Harper nodded, sitting on a bench at the table and letting the puppy lick his fingers. Yesterday that had brought an expression of pure joy to the boy's face, but today he barely gave a sad, little smile. Beka frowned.

"Are you alright?" she asked, concerned.

Harper glanced up, his expression oddly hopeful and scared at the same time, but before he could answer they both heard the sound of Bobby stomping up the outside steps. He jumped to his feet, Woody still in his arms, and turned to bolt up the stairs with his pet.

"No, Harper, wait," Beka said quickly. "Keep the dog here. I said you could have him, and Bobby will just have to live with that. You don't have to hide your pet in your own home, okay?"

More than anything, Harper wanted to get Woody out of sight before Bobby came in, but he couldn't explain why without triggering Beka's suspicions and getting them both into a world of trouble, and besides, it was too late. The door swung open and Bobby marched in, smiling cheerfully in a way that made Harper loath him more than ever.

"Mornin', Beka!" he called, striding over to plant a short kiss on her cheek. "Breakfast ready?"

"Yes, but don't expect that everyday. Tomorrow you're on your own," Beka said with a warning smile, placing the eggs on the table. "I've got too much to do to cook breakfast for a grown man."

"You cook for the kid," Bobby pointed out.

"Does he look grown to you?"

Bobby glanced at Harper pointedly. "No, he don… Hey, what's that?" he growled, narrowing his eyes to look closer. "A flea-bag?" He turned to Beka in disgust. "You let it have a mutt?"

"Yes," Beka said, moving between Bobby and the trembling boy and crossing her arms firmly. "_Harper_ rescued the little dog yesterday, and I said he could keep it."

Bobby snorted. "You call that a dog? Looks more like an overgrown rat. You can't seriously want that thing around! Why don't you just let me drown it and save us all a lot of trouble?"

Harper's face blanched, and he took a step backward clutching the little pup tightly to his chest.

"Bobby…" Beka growled a warning, her eyes narrowing.

"Hey," the man said, holding up his hands and giving a quick smile. "I was just kidding. Let the kid keep the dog if he wants. Doesn't matter to me." He flashed Beka a dazzling grin and swung his leg over the bench by the table to sit down.

Feeling that the discussion actually went rather well, all things considered, Beka went back to placing the breakfast dishes on the table. She never even saw Bobby turn and wink at Harper, an evil, plotting grin on his face as he stared at the boy and his puppy. But Harper saw it and felt cold fear grip his heart as he stood there, his helpless pet sleeping happily in his arms, blissfully unaware.

As he gingerly sat down, his sore, aching body protesting, Harper vowed never to let Woody out of his sight.

OOOOO

"Dylan!"

"The Marshal paused and turned around when he heard his name shouted. Rhade hurried up to him, at least two day's worth of stubble covering his face. Dylan smirked.

"Misplace your razor again, Mac?" he teased.

Rhade glared. "What, you implementing a dress code now?"

"No. I'm just still a little shocked. You used to be so…clean-cut."

"Can't a man change and grow?"

Dylan took in his friend's slightly scruffy appearance and raised an eyebrow."

"I got up late, okay?" Rhade defended, crossing his arms.

"Two days in a row?"

"Would you like to know why I even sought you out, oh exalted one?" Rhade shot back sarcastically.

Dylan let the teasing go, switching into business mode. "What's up?"

"Calvino's waiting for you in cell one, in his usual state."

"Ugh!" Dylan groaned, his shoulders slumping. "It's not even ten AM yet! Did he even go home last night?"

Rhade shrugged and Dylan sighed in response. "It's never easy," he breathed through his teeth, turning back toward the marshal's office. Rhade fell in step beside him.

"Where's Rommie?" asked the deputy.

"Rode out to the Maru to help Beka today."

It was Rhade's turn to sigh, and Dylan turned to look at him, a sly smile on his face. "You haven't worked up the courage to ask her yet, have you?"

"Hey, it's not that easy!" Rhade sulked. "Every time I get near her, she takes the opportunity to point out how like an idiot I'm behaving. She thinks I still see her as your little cousin in pig-tails. And it's not easy confessing your true feelings to a woman who can soundly thrash you, not that I'm telling anyone that part."

"You've just got to buck up and do it, Mac. I did."

Telemachus Rhade snorted, giving Dylan an incredulous glance. "Right. I hear all you got from the demure Miss Valentine was a 'maybe.' That's not much to brag about, or use as advice to others."

Dylan shrugged his shoulders. "I'm hoping to keep negotiating that answer. Besides, at least I asked."

They fell silent as they crossed the street and approached the office, both staring out unknowingly and longingly in the direction that Beka's ranch lay.

"You think it's smart to have those two alone out there? I mean, what do you think they talk about all day?" Rhade asked suddenly, his voice hesitant.

Dylan shuddered, that thought never having crossed his mind before. "Two of the toughest women alive, left alone to their own devises with no one to overhear them? I don't even wanna know…"

OOOOO

Beka nearly fell over from laughing, and she had to grab a corn stalk to steady herself.

"Are you serious? _Dylan_?"

Rommie's grin was huge as she nodded, pulling several ears of corn and depositing them in the basket at her feet. The two women and Harper were methodically working at harvesting the corn to dry and shell for feed and seed, a tedious job that would normally take most of two days. Beka was pleasantly surprised to find the time, and the work, passing much quicker with the addition of help and pleasant company, even if Harper was oddly keeping to himself several rows over, Woody following at his feet.

"Yep," Rommie answered, still grinning slyly. There he was, just coming out of a pleasant afternoon nap by the pond to find all his clothes missing, and him naked as the day he graced this earth with his presence."

Beka snorted again, barely containing the tears of mirth that threatened the corners of her eyes. "And he never found out you were behind it?"

"He never figured it out for certain. I'm sure he suspected either Mac or me, but he couldn't prove it, and he wasn't about to press the subject after his humiliating walk, or I should say _dash_, home."

"Oh, that is just…just…too good for words. Rommie, I'm starting to think you are a very valuable person to have as a friend. We should talk more often," Beka's voice was laced with mirth as she winked at the other woman.

"I aim to please," Rommie replied simply.

They worked in companionable silence for several minutes before Rommie spoke up again.

"So, are you gonna give in and go to the dance with Dylan?"

Beka stopped in her tracks and sighed. "I don't know. I'm mean, dances really, really aren't my kind of thing. And on top of all that there's Bobby…"

"Going to the dance with a bunch of friends wouldn't be cheating on him, you know."

"What about you, have you agreed to go with Rhade yet?"

"Ugh, no. The big lug hasn't managed to ask me yet. Keeps tripping over his own tongue or running away like a frightened bunny. Pathetic, really. And I've had my dress made for two days now."

Beka laughed again, both at the image of the scruffy, tough deputy running scared, and at the thought of no nonsense, equally-as-tough Rommie fussing over silk and ribbons. Besides, she had to admit, it did sound kinda nice. The spending an evening with friends just for fun part, not the silk and ribbons part. And, she thought glancing at the boy stubbornly keeping at least ten feet and two rows ahead of them, it would probably be really good for Harper. But… She sighed again, hating the turmoil of her thoughts.

"Beka!"

Bobby's voice rang out from the farmyard, saving her from having to form an answer for Rommie.

"Over here," she called, waving to him. He strode purposefully over, a smile on his face, and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"About time, she teased. "Figured those pesky cattle must have eaten you. Almost ran out of corn, you know," she finished, gesturing to the half an acre still to go.

"Um, well, Beka…" Bobby began, "I can't stay right now. Got business I need to go see about. But I'll be back later, I promise."

The good humor drained from Beka, and she glared at her fiancé. "Bobby, you've been gone for more than two weeks! And now you have more _business_? You do realize I could really use your help around here. I have a ranch to run and it's harvest time!"

"I know, baby, but this is important."

"And I'm not?"

Bobby sighed. "That's not what I meant, Beka –"

Beka interrupted him before he could finish. "No, I'm starting to think that's exactly what you mean. That I'm not important to you. Fine, go finish your precious business wherever and whatever it is!"

Bobby stepped forward, laying a hand on her arm, but Beka shrugged him off, her face furious. "I'm really sorry, baby. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Save it. I don't wanna hear it right now. Oh, and you might want to sleep in the bunkhouse tonight. I think I'm too mad to guarantee your safety if you were to come slinking into the house at some un-earthly hour tonight."

"Fine!" Bobby shot back, his smile dropping as anger flashed across his own face. "Don't wait up!"

He stomped off, muttering to himself, and Beka stared after him, her temper smoldering. "Rommie," she said after a moment, turning to the other woman who had stayed silent and wisely out of the line of fire during the short fight. "Think that invitation to accompany Dylan to the dance is still open?"

"Oh, I'm quite positive it is," the deputy answered.

"Then," Beka answered, glancing at Harper who had stopped to watch the arguing with a strangely hopeful expression on his face, "you can tell him that we accept."


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

The sun was starting to set as Rev Bem rode up to the Maru. He'd meant to get there earlier but an unexpected bout of chicken pox had swept through the mission school, keeping him longer than he anticipated today, and then the mission horse was old and slow. He didn't have the heart to push the poor animal very fast.

Everything was calm and quiet as he approached the back porch. "Good evening, Master Harper," he said pleasantly to the boy who was sitting on the steps watching him dismount with an unreadable expression. Something small moved in the boy's lap and drew the monk's attention.

"What's this?" he asked, tying the horse to the rail and stepping closer.

"A puppy," Harper answered, his voice on guard. He held the little dog carefully as if afraid it would be snatched from him. "I found him yesterday. Beka said I could keep him."

"That's wonderful, Harper," the monk said with a smile. "May I see him?" he asked, holding out his hands.

The boy hesitated, distrust still etched deep into his eyes, but he finally nodded and gently held the wiggling puppy out. Rev took the small animal with care, stroking the soft fir lightly. "He's beautiful. But isn't he kind of small to be away from his mother?"

"Yeah," Harper replied, relaxing slightly as he saw the careful, tender way the other man was holding his pet. "But the mother's dead, so he doesn't have much choice. He'll be alright though; I can take care of him."

"I'm sure you will do a great job taking care of him. He really is very sweet," Rev said, handing back the squirming puppy. He was delighted to see the look of pure joy and caring on the boy's face as he held the small animal. It warmed his heart.

"Is Beka around?"

Harper nodded. "She's cleaning up after dinner. She wouldn't let me help her. Something about me needing to rest for awhile." His voice held a hint of confusion as he spoke, as if he wasn't quite sure what she meant by that. "But she already makes me stay in that freakin' bed all night long. How much more rest do I need?"

Rev chuckled heartily. "Let me tell you a little secret I learned a long, long time ago," he said conspiratorially, leaning in to whisper to the boy. "There are two types of people you never argue with because you'll never win. Females who have a motherly streak, and Valentines."

Harper squinched up his eyes, thinking about that. "But…Beka's both of those…"

"Exactly. And now my boy, I think I'd better go talk to this formidable female, and you…you'd better just rest." He laughed again at the look on the boy's face and patted him teasingly on the head as he climbed the stairs past him and entered the kitchen.

He found Beka putting the last of the dishes in the cupboard.

"Rev!" she cried happily as he came in. "I was starting to think you weren't coming. What kept you?"

"Chicken pox," Rev answered with a tired smile.

"Ugh," Beka grimaced, shuddering. "Glad it's you and not me. And don't give it to the kid! That's the last thing he needs!"

Rev chuckled. "Don't worry. I'd bet anything Master Harper has already had it. And even if he hasn't, as long as you keep him away from the mission I'm sure he'll be fine."

"True," Beka nodded. "He's had everything else, so you're probably right."

"I am here for more than just a social call, though, Beka. I have those reading and writing materials I said I would try and get. Perhaps I could start teaching our young friend tonight?"

"Oh, yes, that would be wonderful. He's been strangely quiet and moody all day. Maybe that will cheer him up," Beka said, pulling off her apron. "Before you start, though, would you check him over quick? I'm thinking his back is infected again. He's been moving like it hurts him."

"Certainly," Rev said with a serene nod. "I would be happy to."

"Harper!" Beka hollered without stopping her work, knowing he was just outside the door. "Come here for a minute!" The door swung open and Harper entered, Woody at his heels. "You fed that ugly pup yet?" she asked, the indulgent smile on her face taking the sting out of the words.

"No. I was gonna do it after I finished the night chores."

"I'll do the chores. Woody can come with me and I'll fee him after. You stay here with Rev. He's gonna check you over again quick and then he's got something for you." She gave him a conspiratorial wink and then scooped the little puppy up and left before Harper could utter a word of protest.

"I guess that settles that," Rev grinned. "Well, Master Harper, I believe you know the routine. If you'll please remove your shirt we'll see what's bothering you and get this over with so we can move on to more pleasant activities."

The young man glared and stubbornly crossed his arms. "I don't need to be doctored no more. I'm good."

"And the fact that you're protesting and trying to get out of it tells me you are not. I promise to be careful and quick, but I doubt you want Beka to come back and find you still standing there glaring."

The boy closed his eyes as an unreadable expression passed across his face, one Rev almost thought looked like fear, before he slowly unbuttoned his ragged shirt and pulled it off.

"Come here and sit down," Rev told him gently. Dragging his feet, Harper did as he was told. "Don't worry," Rev continued, turning to get the medicines he carried with him. "I promise this will – Harper!"

The name slipped loudly from his lips as he turned around and saw the boy's bare back. Six fresh, ugly, red and purple welts stretched across the healing scares, two of them deep enough they had oozed a trickle of now dried blood.

Anger very unbecoming of a monk rose up in him. "Who did this!" he demanded.

"You can't tell Beka!" Harper cried, whirling to face the older man, panic and pure fear in his voice. "Or anyone else, but especially not Beka!"

"Of course I can tell Beka!" Rev responded, still furious at what he was seeing.

"But you can't! He'll hurt me again, and…hurt you, too! I don't want that to happen."

"Who hurt you, Harper?" Rev pressed, his voice stern.

"Bobby," the boy mumbled, dropping his head.

A small growl escaped Rev's lips as his eyes flashed dangerously. "I am going to personally find that sorry excuse for a man and beat him to within and inch of his life!"

"No!" Harper wailed, grabbing Rev's arm tightly. "You can't! It'll just make him mad, and Beka, too. It's not that bad. I'm fine."

"Harper, this is not _fine_," the monk said, gesturing to the new hurts. "This is wrong, and I can't sit by and let it happen."

"Rev, my máthar told me once," the boy's voice was small and hesitant, as if he was afraid to contradict or speak up, but was too desperate not to, "that you could…um…tell anything to a priest or monk and they could never tell anyone else. That it was against their rules. So, you _can't_ tell anyone else about Bobby, not if you really are a monk."

"Harper, I…" Rev opened his mouth to argue fiercely, but the words stuck painfully in his throat. The fact of the matter was, Harper was right. If he was evoking his right of confession and confidence, Rev was bound to honor it. But how could he, and at what cost!

"Harper," he tried again. "This is not something you should keep secret! It will only hurt you more, and probably others, including Beka."

"I'm not telling," the boy whispered softly. "And you can't either. Please, promise me you won't tell Beka, or anyone else."

Rev sighed deeper than he had ever sighed before, and for the first time in thirty years regretted the vows he had made. Knowing he was only setting the stage for Harper to be hurt further, but also knowing there was no way he could refuse and not shatter what small amount of faith and trust in people Harper had managed to acquire in the last month or so, Rev nodded slowly. "I promise Harper. I want you to know that I strongly object to this, and am not happy at all, but I promise not to tell. But, you also have to understand, I do not promise not to continue to urge Beka to give that man the boot. And I do not promise not to keep checking you over."

"Okay," Harper muttered, deciding he could live with that compromise.

"And Harper, I want you to promise me something in return. If he hurts you again, I want you to come and tell me. Let me help you. And if you ever change your mind about me telling, or want to tell someone and can't get up the courage to do it, come get me and I'll do it for you."

Harper thought about that for a long time, and Rev noted sadly that there was a look of longing in his eyes. The monk almost thought he would change his mind right then and there, but in the end he nodded slowly, agreeing.

With a deep sadness in his soul for this child who had suffered so much in the past, and continued to do so in a place he should be safe and happy, Rev gestured for Harper to sit again and tenderly began to care for the new wounds.

OOOOO

"Leaving so soon?"

Rev looked up from saddling the old horse to see Beka coming down the steps toward him.

"I've given Master Harper all the learning I think his poor brain can handle tonight," he said and couldn't help smiling, despite his still smoldering anger. He remembered how excited the young man had been when he'd pulled out the battered book and old slate with half a pencil. He'd caught on remarkably quick, learning his letters and even starting to recognize a few easy words before they were done. Writing, however, had been another story. His tough, calloused fingers just couldn't seem to hold the slim pencil, and no amount of forcing could get them to duplicate the delicate letters Rev had drawn for him.

Not that that stopped him. He would have kept trying all night if Rev hadn't gently suggested he work on it some more tomorrow. Harper needed rest, and Rev couldn't shake the memory of those six new welts stretching across an already horribly scared back and a promise that made him powerless to stop it from happening again. In short, his heart just wasn't in the lessons tonight.

"Besides," he added, pulling his wandering thoughts back in, "I'm sure Brother Thaddeus will be needing my help with the children by now."

"Thank you for teaching him, Rev," Beka said, lowering her voice as she laid a warm hand on her friend's arm. "He wants to learn so badly. He such a smart kid, I can just see it in his eyes, he's just never had the chance to prove it. So thank you, for helping him get that chance."

"You're welcome. It is my pleasure to teach a student so eager to learn," Rev responded before ducking his head slightly. He closed his eyes, wondering how Beka could be such a good, kind, caring person to Harper, and yet so totally blind to what was happening to him right under her nose. "Beka," he finally said, looking up and knowing she wouldn't like where he was taking this conversation. "Where's Bobby?"

"Don't know, don't really care right now," Beka said, a trace of anger in her voice. Rev couldn't tell if it was directed at him or the man in question.

"Why do you let him stay around if he makes you so angry?" he asked, taking a guess at the source.

"Rev," Beka sighed. "We've been over this. Who I choose to love is my business and my business alone."

"But, Beka, he's a worthless lump of flesh!" Rev spit out, finally voicing the thought that had been on the tip of his tongue for months. There was more at stake now than just Beka's hurt feelings.

"Sometimes, maybe," the woman he loved like his own daughter replied, "but other times he's gentle and tender and I love him, so you're just gonna have to live with it."

Beka's voice held an icy edge that warned Rev he had pushed too far. Sighing again, he swung wearily up onto the ancient horse.

"Beka, I love you, and I respect your right to make your own decisions. Just, please, look around you and look at this from all angles before you go through with this marriage. I won't say any thing more now; I know I've made you angry. I just…care about you and don't want you to get hurt, or make a decision you'll come to regret. Now goodnight, child."

He turned his horse and rode off into the darkness, his heart heavy and his mind worried.

OOOOO

Still wondering what had made Rev bring up that old argument tonight, Beka climbed the steps and walked back into the warm lamplight that filled the kitchen. At the worn table, her new hired-hand was still hard at work, hunched over the slate, his tongue sticking out of his mouth slightly in concentration. Woody the pup had long since given up the fight to stay awake and was sleeping on the bench next to the boy, but Harper refused to give up until he figured it out. Beka couldn't help laughing out loud at the sight.

"Harper," she said, still laughing. "I promise the letters will still be there in the morning, and you can copy them to your heart's content when our work is done. Right now, it's bed time."

"Aw, Beka! Please!" Harper begged, his eyes bright with tiredness as well as excitement. "I've almost got this bumpy one right."

"That bumpy one is called a 'B,' remember? And no. Bed."

Grumbling loudly, something that made Beka smile again knowing a few weeks ago he never would have dared do it, Harper gathered up his precious school materials and his sleeping puppy and headed up the stairs.

"Good night, Harper," she called after him, trying to hide her laughing.

"Night, Boss," the boy called back, and Beka was quiet certain she heard a whispered "sleep freak" tagged on to the end there, which just made her laugh even more.


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Trance pulled the quilt off the foot of her bed and wrapped it tightly around herself as she moved to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. Her hands were trembling as she sat in the bright moonlight that fell through the window onto the chair and she let her head fall wearily back against the worn wood.

Her dreams were getting worse. Almost every night they came now; vivid and alarming but still so confusing. Someone was in trouble, that much she knew, and it was getting closer. But who she couldn't tell, and it was making her sick, knowing she needed to warn them somehow but couldn't. With all her heart she longed for her dear grandmother, for her calming words and wise guidance.

Feeling very much alone, Trance let the small tears trickle down her cheeks as she sat there watching the dawn arrive through the open window.

OOOOO

Beka woke to the distinct feeling she was being watched. It wasn't a bad feeling; not the kind of being watched that would normally send shivers up her spine or make the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up. No, it was just the sure feeling that someone was staring at her.

Frowning, she willed the sleep to leave her mind and slowly opened her eyes…to find two chocolate brown ones staring at her not more than five inches away.

Sighing, she rolled onto her back and let her eyes drift shut again. "Good morning, Woody," she mumbled to the puppy sitting on her pillow, shaking her head. She felt a rough, little tongue on her forehead and cheek in response and opened her eyes to a puppy wagging his tail so hard his entire body shook.

Unable to help herself, she reached out a hand and scratched his head. "Why are you here on my pillow and not sleeping with Harper, huh boy? And why on earth am I talking to a dog?" she muttered. Woody just licked her nose and wagged his body more.

"Right. I figured that's what you'd say." She reluctantly pushed the covers back and pulled a shawl on overtop of her nightgown. "Come on, let's go find your boy and see what he's got himself into now."

Still not quite awake even though she knew it was time to get up for morning chores, Beka made her way down the hallway to Harper's room, figuring that was as good a place as any to start looking for her missing hired-hand.

It turned out to be a very short search.

Peering into the small bedroom, she found the boy curled up on his bed, fast asleep. Cradled in his arms was the old slate, covered in much improved letter 'B's, his fingers still clutching the stubby slate pencil tightly.

It was the first time Harper hadn't already been awake when she got up since he'd arrived, and she just found herself staring at the strange sight of seeing him actually sleeping, his face for once totally relaxed and pain free. It was truly a lovely sight.

"I see why you came and got me," she finally whispered quietly to the little dog at her feet. "You know it's breakfast time, but you also know Harper needs to sleep." Woody wagged his tail as if to say he agreed. "Just a minute and we'll get that breakfast."

Moving as quietly as she could, Beka tip-toed into the room. Gently, she slipped the slate and pencil from the boy's hands and set them on the dresser, then pulled the quilt up around his shoulders. As she left the room, she pulled the door shut behind her, hoping with all her heart that he would sleep for most of the morning at least.

"Come on, Woody," she called. "You ever had scrambled eggs before?"

OOOOO

Beka was sitting on a bench outside the barn mending the tack when the backdoor of the house burst open. Harper rushed out, his ragged shirt gripped in one hand while he pulled his suspenders up over his undershirt with the other, pure panic spread across his face.

"Boss, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to sleep so long! Please, please, please don't fire me!" he begged breathlessly, his eyes desperate.

"Sh, Harper," Beka laughed, holding up her hands. "It's okay, kiddo! You're not in trouble and I wouldn't ever fire you for sleeping! I _wanted_ you to sleep. You needed the rest."

Confusion took the place of the panic on his face. "But I… I missed… But it's almost noon!" the boy protested. "You wanted me to sleep?"

"Yup," Beka assured him brightly as Woody greeted his master with happy yelps and a wagging tail. "And you don't get to do any work until you go back into that house and eat the sandwich that's waiting for you in the icebox."

The young man just stood before her with his mouth gaping open. Beka laughed again. "Go on, kiddo. You need all the food you can get; you're still skin and bones. I'll tell you what I need done today when you get back."

Ten minutes later, Harper stood beside her again, fully dressed and looking happier and more rested than Beka had ever seen him.

"Thanks, Boss."

"Nothing special. You work hard and earn every bit of it. Besides, eating and sleeping are basic, human rights you know."

"Know some folks who'd disagree with you on that," Harper muttered, then shook his head. "So, Boss, what's the plan for today?"

"The grain's ready. You ever helped with a barley harvest?"

Harper shook his head.

"Then I guess it's your day to learn."

OOOOO

Harvesting grain was hard, unpleasant work. The grain had to be cut, then gathered up and tied into bundles called shocks, then the shocks stacked together. Beka and Harper were soon covered in dust and sweat, and while he never complained, she could see that swinging the heavy scythe was quickly tiring him out. It was taking its toll on her as well, but she at least didn't have half-healed wounds to content with. Still, there wasn't anything she could do. The barley needed to be cut and shocked while the good weather lasted and she and Harper were the only ones around to do it.

They'd been at it for over three hours when Harper noticed two horses approaching.

"Who is it, Harper?" Beka asked not looking up from the bundle she was tying.

"Think it's the Marshal and Rhade," Harper answered, shading his eyes to look.

A few moments later the two men rode up beside them.

"Afternoon, Beka, Harper," Dylan said tipping his hat to the tired and sweaty workers. "Need some help?"

"Not gonna say no," Beka sighed wearily, wiping her sleeve across her forehead.

The lawmen dismounted and tied their horses to the fence. "Here, kid," Rhade said to Harper as he rolled up his sleeves. "Give me that scythe. It's bigger than you are," he teased lightly, rolling his eyes as he took the large tool from the boy. "Besides, aren't you still on probation or something?" He turned to Dylan and Beka with a wink. "Should we be letting him have a weapon this big?"

Harper glared at the deputy. "Har, har, very funny," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "You spend a night locked in a cage listening to him snore," the boy pointed at Dylan, "and then see how much you laugh!"

"Hey, I don't snore!" Dylan protested as he took the other scythe form Beka.

"Yes, you do!" Rhade and Harper answered in unison. Beka laughed.

"Think you were outvoted there, Marshal Hunt," she goaded.

"I feel so picked on," Dylan whined playfully.

"Get over it," Harper mumbled, then looked up surprised that he'd said that out loud. He hesitated, worried that he'd just overstepped his bounds somehow until everyone started to laugh. Relieved, he broke into a goofy grin.

"Well said, kid," Rhade laughed. He clapped the boy jovially on the back, the force almost knocking him over.

"Ow!" Harper grumbled in annoyance, rolling his shoulders. "Hands off, big guy."

"Don't break my hired-hand," Beka joked, knowing Harper probably was very uncomfortable being touched underneath the teasing and wanting to deflect that attention before he withdrew into his shell again. It was so good to see him joking and teasing and confidently interacting with others. She didn't want to ruin that. "I still need him around here. And on that topic, the day's not getting any longer and this grain's still sitting here…"

"Right," Dylan said. "Which is a polite way of telling your lazy guests to stop talking and get to work, right?"

"Hey, you said it, not me."

Everyone laughed again while turning back to the work at hand.

They soon feel into a rhythm with Dylan and Rhade cutting the grain and Beka and Harper shocking it. With the scorching afternoon sun beating down on them and the tiring, backbreaking work, the talking and joking of before quickly died out, everyone just concentrating on getting the job done, but there was still a feeling of companionable cooperation. The sun was long down and there was barely enough light left to see by when they finally quit. Beka sighed as she glanced at the third of the field still left standing.

"And there's still a whole other field, too," she said wearily.

"We'll be here bright and early," Dylan assured her.

She blushed, embarrassed that she needed the help, but couldn't deny the relief the offer gave her. "Thanks," she said, her voice laced with deep gratitude. "I can't tell you – Well, we'd never get it done with out you, so thank you."

"It's our pleasure. I told you we'd be here to help you out if you needed it. You just have to get over your reluctance to ask."

"Yeah, well, working on that. Anyway, you're welcome to stay for dinner. I'm sure you're starving after all that."

"We'd love to," Rhade jumped in before Dylan could do something stupid and noble like refuse or suggest they come back another time. Dylan glared at him slightly, but Beka just laughed.

"Great. Mac, would you mind helping Harper stash the tools in the barn and keep him awake long enough to do evening chores? I'll make the Marshal here help with the cooking."

"Hey, I'm good, Boss," Harper protested, even as he wavered slightly on his feet and his mouth split in a huge yawn.

"Right…"

"Come on, short one," Rhade laughed. "You get the dog," he said pointing to the very much asleep Woody. "I'll get the tools."

"K," the boy mumbled, blinking blearily, too tired to take exception to the "insult."

As the two walked off, heading toward the dark shadow that was the waiting barn, Beka hung back, helping the Marshal gather up the horses. They walked in silence until they were at the hitching post beside the tack shed, Beka trying to find her voice the whole time, and then they were tying the horses up and she was out of stalling time.

"So, um…" she said after a moment, her voice embarrassingly nervous. "About that…um…dance thing you mentioned? That invitation still open?"

"Yes," Dylan answered quickly, looking up in happy surprise.

"'Cause I was thinking," Beka continued, looking everywhere but at the man standing next to her, "that maybe I could go, for Harper's sake of course. The kid needs to get out more, make a few friends, learn not to be scared of his own shadow. It'd be good for him."

"Of course," Dylan grinned. "For Harper."

An awkward silence fell, neither one sure what to say, until Dylan finally blurted, "So, can I pick you up at seven then? All of us, I mean. As friends, of course."

"Of course," Beka answered hastily. "And yeah, seven's good. And…um…can ya tell Rommie I'm gonna need a little help with that dress thing?"

"Sure," Dylan agreed. His smile was so big it was almost painful to see. Beka would have decked him for it if she hadn't been quite so busy noticing how nice it made his face look.

"Harper's gonna need some clothes, too. The kid doesn't even own a pair of shoes…"

"Don't worry. Mac and I will take care of it."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Good then."

"Yes, it is."

"So, um, supper?" Beka finally asked, rubbing her hands nervously over her hair.

"Yeah, supper sounds nice."

"Right, let's go in then."

"Good idea."

Dylan was still grinning and Beka blushing slightly as the pair climbed the steps of the house and slipped inside.

OOOOO

Sucking in a deep breath, Bobby ducked back around the side of the tack shed, smoldering anger growing inside him from what he's just heard.

How dare she! How dare she agree to go to a dance with another man?

And how dare that Marshal encroach on his territory! Beka was his! Beka, the Maru, even that annoying brat! They were all his and that Marshal Hunt had no right to waltz in and take them, right out from under his nose!

It made him sick. It made him jealous. And above all, it made him very, very angry.

He was going to have to show Beka who was the best. Remind her who she belonged to. He wasn't sure how, yet, but he would think of something. There was too much at stake to loose it all now.

Growling slightly like an injured beast, he slunk off into the darkness to find somewhere to hole up for the night, lick his wounds, and make plans.


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

"Oh, Beka!" Trance squealed excitedly. "You're going to look so beautiful!"

Beka scowled at the bubbly girl, the stiff, satin fabric she was smothered in, and the female deputy currently circling her with a mouth full of pins. "I feel ridiculous. Are you sure it's supposed to look like this? All these ruffles and lace and…and…stuff?" She picked disdainfully at the lace covering her shoulders.

"I'm pretty sure that's the point, Boss," Harper put in, looking up from the book he was concentrating on. "And, by the way, I agree with Trance. You do look pretty."

"Oh, and yours is the voice of vast personal experience," Beka shot back as Rommie wordlessly prodded her arm into a different position.

Harper shrugged un-offended. "Hey, I know what I see," he said sincerely, throwing her a real smile. Touched, Beka couldn't help but smile back despite the circulation-cutting-off torture ensemble she was currently trapped in.

Actually, if she was honest, she was enjoying herself. The pleasant sounds of a late summer evening drifted in through the open back door, and her little house was filled with warm lamplight and good friends. She'd never been a very social person; she was too busy trying to survive and fight out and existence in a society geared for her failure. A house full of friends was a new and rather nice experience. Rev had come by earlier to check on Harper and continue with the reading lessons. They'd only been at it for a short while when Trance and Rommie showed up to help Beka find something to wear for the dance, lugging yards of silk and satin in the form of ball gowns behind them.

Now they were all gathered in the kitchen munching on cookies and enjoying each other's company. It helped her push the fact that Bobby was gone _again_ on "business" to the back of her mind.

"Hold still for a moment," Rommie ordered, breaking into her thoughts and turing her head back to face forward. "Let me pin this rose in place."

Beka glanced again with distaste to what she wearing and let out a grown. "Seriously, I don't think this is the dress for me, guys. There's too much…fluff."

Trance giggled slightly behind her hand while Rommie let out a long suffering sigh. Closing her eyes for a moment as she prayed for patience, the deputy finally opened them and glanced at the small pile of un-rejected dresses left.

"Okay, how about this one," she said slowly, holding up a light taffeta.

"It's pink," Beka pointed out.

"Yes, and it would look great with your eyes and your hair, and…"

"Rommie, it's pink," Beka repeated pointedly, as if that answered everything.

"I like pink," Trance offered helpfully.

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," Beka mumbled affectionately to the girl.

"Okay, no to the pink dress," Rommie sighed again, adding it to the reject pile as well.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Beka said. "Can't I just wear my best shirt and bodice and call it good? I'll even iron them."

"Beka, I am not letting you walk into that dance in red calico, ironed or not," Rommie said firmly, suppressing a shudder. "Here, how about this one," she added determinedly, holding up a dark blue satin.

Beka wrinkled her nose slightly. "Where am I supposed to strap my gun wearing that?"

"Your gun!" Rommie blurted, horrified. "Honestly, what kind of dances have you gone to in the past?"

"Well, what if someone starts shooting?"

"Rebekah, child, I should hope this town could manage to host a social event without gunfire," Rev couldn't help chiming in with a gentle smile. "Besides, even if you should find a place to attach your weapon, they'd just make you check it at the door."

Beside him at the table, Harper burst out in a fit of giggles over the mental image of Beka draped in blue satin, revolver strapped to the fluffy skirt.

"Hey, mister, you'd better watch it," Beka warned with a glare. "Remember, tomorrow night this is you standing here getting poked and prodded."

Harper's jaw snapped shut, the giggles instantly gone. In the moment of silence that followed, Woody let out a short, happy yelp in Beka's direction, wagging his tail enthusiastically and everyone laughed.

"Well, Woody likes the dress at least," Trance said, scooping the little puppy up into her arms and hugging him happily.

"Oh lovely, now I'm trusting the taste of a dog," Beka shook her head, running fingers through her hair. "Look, Rommie, I really appreciate all this, but…it just isn't me. I'd never feel comfortable in something like this, especially not in front of the rest of the town. I'm…I'm just gonna go change now, okay?"

Rommie nodded tiredly, getting up from the floor to let Beka past.

With Beka leaving and the excitement of the fashion show over, Rev felt it was an appropriate time to direct his pupil's waning attention back to the lesson before him.

"Master Harper, we still have three more vocabulary words to learn for the night," he suggested gently, pointing to the open book that sat forgotten on the table before the boy.

"Oh, right," Harper muttered sheepishly, picking up the book. Trance sat back on the bench beside him, Woody curled up in her lap, and leaned over his shoulder to read with him.

Carefully, Harper sounded out the letters he'd only learned to recognized a few days earlier, still rather astonished that they all worked together to make sounds and then words. The first one was easy. After only a few moments of muttering to himself he looked up at the monk triumphantly. "_Just_!" he said the word brightly.

"Correct," Rev Bem smiled back at him. "Do they use it in a sentence so you can know what it means?"

"Well, yeah, if that's what this long bunch of letters is. But I can't read all that."

"Not yet, Harper, but soon you'll be able to. Trance, perhaps you could help him out?"

Trance nodded, peeking back over her friend's shoulder. "Just," she read. "The cause of the warriors was noble, just, and true."

"Um, okay, whatever," Harper shrugged, not really understanding but too excited to get to the next word to care. This one was harder. It took him several minutes and a few whispered suggestions from Trance to get it right. Finally he read it hesitantly. "Repentankie?"

"Very close, Harper," Rev said with a little laugh. "The word is repentance."

"What's that mean?"

"It means that when you do something that is wrong, you feel bad and ask God to forgive you."

"Why?" Harper questioned, his expression genuinely puzzled.

"Because it makes you feel better," Trance added helpfully. "I know it always makes me feel better inside."

Rev, seeing that Harper was seriously curious and never one to pass up the chance for a little lesson, decided to elaborate a bit. "For example – there once was a man who stole something from his neighbor, a large sack of grain. He later felt badly about it, and turned to God, asking for forgiveness for his sin. That is repentance. Asking God to forgive you when you have done something wrong."

"But, was he hungry?" Harper asked.

"Um…I suppose so," Rev answered, a little thrown off guard by the question.

'Then why was it wrong? Gotta eat. God should know that. Besides, what does He care? I bet He's got much more important things to worry about than one sack of grain. I've stolen food lots of times when I was hungry. Never needed no repentance to make me feel better."

Rev sighed deeply. This was not going quiet the way he had hoped. He glanced over Harper's head to where Rommie was still gathering up sewing supplies and dresses, looking for a little help, but the deputy shook her head quickly, letting him know he was on his own for this one.

"You might not feel like you need forgiveness, but God would still like you to seek it, to repent and put your sins behind you," he tried to explain gently, sensing Harper's darkening mood.

"If God really was worried about me, He shoulda made it so I wouldn't have to be starvin' in the first place. Not gonna need no stolen food if I've got plenty to eat, would I?"

"I'm afraid that's not how it usually works, Master Harper."

"Maybe you should just try it," Trance suggested quietly. "Just tell God you're sorry and ask Him to forgive you for what you've done to Him. It might make you feel better."

Without warning, Harper's eyes darkened and a wave of anger and hurt flashed across his face. He slammed the book shut, jerking to his feet. "No!" he yelled. "I won't. He ain't never cared for me, why should I care what He wants? How about He tells me sorry for everything He's done? Everything He's taken away! Maybe He should repent!" Feeling the first sensation of traitorous tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, he turned and ran out the kitchen door, passing a startled Beka who had just come back into the room from upstairs in time to catch his last words. Woody immediately jumped from Trance's lap and raced out the door after his master.

"Guess I missed something," she said humorlessly, holding out the fancy dress to Rommie. Rev sighed heavily and sank onto the bench across the table from Trance.

"I'm sorry, Beka. He started asking questions about the words in the lesson, and I felt it was important to try and explain. I never dreamed he'd react like this."

"What did we say?" Trance asked, her eyes wide and her bottom lip quivering suspiciously. "What did he mean by that?"

Beka gave the girl a sad smile and a comforting squeeze of the shoulder. "I'm sure it wasn't anything you said. Harper just…just gets like this sometimes."

"Would you like us to leave?" Rommie asked tactfully.

"No, make yourselves at home. Put the coffee pot on. I'm gonna go check on the kid."

Beka found him in the cow pasture on the hill, sitting at the base of the lone tree with his back against the rough bark of the trunk, staring at the few stars starting to glow in the sky. Woody was curled protectively around his bare feet.

She approached quietly even though she knew he was aware of her presence. She knew from past experience she had to wait, let him make the first move. It unnerved her how young he looked sitting there, and yet how old – aged and beaten. She shivered – a reaction that had nothing to do with the slight chill of the late summer air.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked quietly after a while, not quiet daring to look at her as she settled on the grass next to him.

"No," Beka answered gently, "Although I think Rev and Trance and Rommie are a bit worried about you. I know I am."

Harper sighed and looked down from the sky to stare at the grass, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around them. Beka could see clearly that he'd been crying, and to the rancher he looked tired, lost, vulnerable…

"It's alright to be angry, you know," Beka spoke again after a long pause.

Harper glanced at her briefly, then back to the stars. "What about you?" he finally asked. "Why aren't you angry with me? Ain't you about fed up with me? If you're here to punish me it's okay. I've been pushing it since I got here; can't believe you haven't done it yet."

"Harper," Beka sighed, "For the record, you haven't done anything wrong. And not everyone solves their problems with pain and punishment, okay." Gently, she placed her hand on his terribly thin shoulder, but he shuddered and pulled away.

"When I'm around they do," he answered bitterly, his eyes dark with memories.

Beka stared at him sadly, wishing there was some way she could help. His past was like a black beast trapped inside him, gnawing and clawing at his soul and forever causing him pain. How could a boy barely seventeen years old already carry so much agony trapped in his spindly body?

"Seamus," she said softly, hesitantly, "tell me. What happened? What did they do to you, this family you've hinted about?"

He was silent for so long she was sure she'd crossed that invisible line that surrounded him and their conversation was over. She was about to apologize when he spoke in a voice sounding extremely young.

"I knew from the moment I saw 'em that I didn't want to live with 'em," he all but whispered. "They were just…mean looking. All my guts were screaming at me that they weren't nice folk. Anyway, there were only a few of us kids left and I really wanted to go with one of those happy families, the ones who seemed so excited to get a new kid." There was a deep longing in his voice. "But people took one look at the beautiful tattoo on my hand and walked away. Except for _this_ family. I was exactly what they were looking for; cheep labor no one would miss." He paused for a moment, shame crossing his face as he ducked his head. "You know they actually bought me, Boss, just like a slave? There was paperwork families had to fill out before they took their new kids home, so the orphanage could keep track of us and check up to see we were treated right and stuff, but my new "father" slipped the worker a gold dollar to forget that part. They bought me and carted me off where no one would ever find me or care."

"Who is this ambiguous _they_ you keep speaking of. This _family_," Beka asked, wanting a straight answer, a name and location so she could ride out and maybe kill them. But Harper, perhaps still instinctively scared of being found dodged her again.

"There was "father" and "mother" and their two sons. The oldest son married about a year and a half after I got there. His wife was the only one who was ever remotely kind to me, but she was too scared of her husband and in-laws to really do anything to help me. Oh yeah, and don't forget Fenris, their beast of a watch do that liked to bit anything that moved, especially me."

Anger rose up hot and vibrant inside Beka, but she bit back the curses she felt like hurling, not wanting to interrupt now that Harper was finally talking.

"I was never allowed in the house; that was for family and guests – people – not trash like me. Got my own personal stall in the barn when I was good and…someplace else when I wasn't. I tried to be good, honestly I did, and I didn't really mind the farm work. I can work, been working all my life. I could have even handled the beatings, if they weren't too often, but it got so I couldn't move without irritating bruises or cuts. And when I realized the pigs were eating better and more often than I was, I decided heck with it, I'm gone. Got three farms away before they caught me that first time. When I could walk again, I tried again. After the third try they…um…sorta put me on a leash…" Beka noted he was absently rubbing his wrists as if feeling the echoes of not so distant pain. It was all she could do to keep from crying at the sight. "Guess," Harper continued, unaware of her fight with her emotions, "they were tired of chasing me and paying the blacksmith a little extra was worth it in the long run. Kept me there for five years so I guess it worked."

Woody, sensing his master's distress, whimpered slightly and pawed at his lap, asking to be held. With a few tears that he couldn't stop once again rolling down his cheeks, Harper instinctively gathered the little dog up in his arms and held him as if his life depended on it. "Boss," he whispered, desperate pleading in his voice, "I don't wanna go back there. Please don't make me go back!"

"Harper," Beka said with deadly seriousness, "I don't care if they have legal claim to you and a judge orders me to do it, I will never make you go back there, promise. Even if I have to fight to the death to stop it." She reached out and put her arm around the boy's shoulders, refusing to move it. He tensed for a moment and then suddenly he was sagging into her, crying, all resistance and projected toughness gone. Instead Beka found herself holding one very hurt, very neglected child and wishing there was something she could do or say to make it alright even as she knew nothing ever would.


End file.
